And That Was How I Knew That I loved You The Most
by EverMaguire
Summary: Robin Locksley and his wife Regina both work for the British Secret Service. They're happy, still in that honeymoon phase of their very busy lives, but they barely have a moment to themselves. When Robin's ex drops a bombshell that turns their lives upside down, will Regina's recklessness in the face of her grief end in disaster? OutlawQueen AU.
1. Chapter 1

**This AU has been burning a hole in my brain for a while now. It's a bit James Bondesque and it's going to be a tear-jerker. So you have been warned.**

 **I'm a bit crap with Geography, so my lovely British husband has assisted with that. If we've managed to cock it up, I apologise.**

 **As usual, constructive comments are love.**

 **I don't own them.**

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Robin places his brush down on the paint tray, picks up a rag to wipe off his hands and takes a step back to admire his handy work. Flecks of forest green streak his hair and his face, the drop sheet beneath his feet is dotted with mottled paint stains that he smudges away with the soles of his trainers.

This is his down time, renovating his home away from home, _their_ home away from home as the case may be. Now that the walls in his den have been finished all he has to do is wait for them to dry before introducing the furniture. A desk, and a chair that's more like a throne fit for a king will take up most of the far wall. The book shelves are to be filled with the heavy tomes he's collected over the course of his travels and extravagant trinkets plucked from exotic locations.

Despite the fact that he loves his wife more than any man other man rightfully could, this is his space, and his alone.

He's methodical like that, he catalogs every pen according to color, each document is filed by date, chronologically, in order. Green post-its remind him of work, yellow of home, blue are purely miscellaneous. But the one problem he keeps chewing his bottom lip over is the matter of where he should hang his father's antique quiver and bow. They'd been gifted to him before the late man's passing -they hold significant sentimental value and he wants to keep them close to his heart.

As a secret agent, Robin is a clean shot with a Walther PPK and a round of ammunition. But more than that, he's an expert marksman, a true archer by nature. With a custom designed recurve bow and the latest in weapons technology at his disposal, he can strike a target with great accuracy from considerable distance. He's a quick draw on the quiver, nimble fingers and years of practice having served him well. He hasn't missed a shot to date, and he isn't about to let that record fall to a younger, far more naive fool rising among the ranks. He has to keep his eye trained, if his spacial awareness were out, even just a slight miscalculation, he knows that it's game over for his career.

He is inherently proud of his British heritage, and he often reminisces of long talks with his father. He knows that precision with a bow and arrow have always been a prized skill in the eyes of his ancestors. England's great military forces could not have done without them, even the hardiest most blood thirsty of medieval battles had been fought and won at the tip of an arrow, often at point blank range. The great English long bow had long ago forged a force that is yet to be reckoned with.

The art has been passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. How he longs to be able to teach his son how to draw back the bow string, how he aches to share the calloused hands where many a string have sat nestled within the crease of his fingers.

He can't think like that. He won't. He loves his wife, she is more than enough to satisfy him. He'd learned that she was infertile when they'd worked their first job together. As his temporarily assigned partner, she'd explained that circumstances made the job that much easier. Logically, he understands. He doesn't love her any less and he certainly doesn't feel like she is lacking. If anything, he finds that he has that much more respect for his wife.

It had definitely been love at first sight. She was beautiful, dark locks cropped close to her shoulders and secured tightly on top of her head. The expanse of neck left exposed had been his undoing, pale skin like porcelain. He longed to draw his knuckles across her pulse point, oh, how he had longed to mark her as his.

She was distraction in its simplest form, a temptation he could not deny. But at the time he'd had Marian to think about. For all that he wanted this new enticement, he lived by a code that could not be ignored. Every single day of his life, he tried to be good, to be righteous and true. He fought for justice, stealing away like a thief in the night. In the end, his job had been too much for Marian. She wanted the simple life, wanted to settle down and start a family.

He'd gone to Regina that night a broken man, hopes and dreams quashed by the one he believed had been his fate. She had welcomed him with open arms and plied him with whiskey. He had vague memories of sucking his slice of lime before leaning across the sofa to kiss her. They'd stumbled to her bed together, their heads foggy as their limbs tangled together.

He'd married her three months later.

It wasn't anything fancy, just the two of them with a celebrant and Pachelbel's Canon in D playing in the background. Flying under the radar has been harder than he'd thought. The British Secret Service don't look kindly upon fraternization, and he isn't about to let her go.

"Room looks good," Regina exhales as she leans against the door frame with her thumbs hooked into her belt loops.

Robin turns with a smile. He's been so far deep into thoughts that he's missed her approach. Normally so attuned to the sound of her footsteps as she pads barefoot through their house, he's surprised that she has been able to catch him off guard. "Indeed. I'm glad you approve, my love. I _was_ going to ask for your opinion, you know."

Regina chuckles and pushes off the wall with her hip as she steps closer to her husband. It's like a mine field she has to navigate on the tips of her toes to narrowly avoid her feet being exposed to the stray drips of paint that surround them. She stands behind him with her hands on his waist and her cheek pressed against the soft cotton shirt he wears.

"So you're still going with the forest theme?"

He can feel her lips as they curve into a grin and he wants to feel her lips against his bare skin. His code name has always been Hood, just as she has always been the Queen. He likes to think he's a little bit like Robin Hood. Hood and Queen, it's doesn't quite roll off the tongue like Lois and Clark, but it's better than Hood and Mills. Because that's not her, not anymore. She's a Locksley now, and those particular vows, those vows are forever.

His speckled hands rest on hers on his waist and he pulls her chest flush to his back. She's always been full of cheek this one, but he loves her sass, his world wouldn't be the same without it. Somehow, they've each managed to master the art of a good natured ribbing over the years. She doesn't let him get away with anything, but he'll never be the one to tell her that sometimes, he quite likes being caught out. "Well, it's hardly Sherwood Forest, but I think it will suffice. I need to make a trip into town to get some screws for the shelves. Would you care to join me? "

They'd purchased the menial cottage in the sleepy little town of Dorking on the edge of the downs. There's a lot that needs to be done to make it a home, but between their schedules and the late night calls requiring their services, they have little time to maintain the place. It's a shame, because he wants this to be their home, a place where they can retire and grow old together with a dog and a goldfish to keep them company. He wants to spend every single day for the rest of his life with Regina.

She shakes her head no, but he doesn't mind. She's been away from him for the past six weeks and he knows that all she wants is to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine. She's exhausted, she's been on her feet for longer than he cares to admit. That's why he'd whisked her away to the comfort of the country. He'll wait on her hand and foot if he has to, because she's his wife, and he loves her.

He turns in her arms and places his lips against her temple. They linger there for a while, his nose pressed to her hair as he inhales. She's home, he knows this is where he wants to be, and he wonders how many more good years as a secret agent he really has left in him. He's not getting any younger, and it's not as easy now as it was when he was in his twenties.

"Alright, I shall leave you here on one condition. I want you to make me a promise. I want you to promise that you will relax. Look at you, Regina. You're a mess. You can barely function. I can see the fatigue in your face, love."

She agrees, albeit reluctantly, because she knows that he has ways and means of finding out if she's lying and frankly, she's far too tired to argue with him today.

He leaves her tucked up in their bed, she's safe and she's warm and if she can't keep her eyes open anymore, he knows that's the best place for her. He takes the time to stretch his legs as he walks into town, but his mind is still with Regina. He thinks about taking her away for the weekend, perhaps somewhere warm. He thinks about a nice secluded beach on the shores of Saint Lucia in the Caribbean, thinks about sand between their toes and cocktails until late.

His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he's surprised when he bumps into a woman on the footpath. He thinks nothing of it, mumbles an apology and pinches the bridge of his nose as he remembers that he has to be on location at the Vatican this weekend. He pulls his cap down over his face and pulls his collar up against the cold, and then there's a voice and the woman is calling his name.

"Robin?"

He groans and throws his hands up into the air while he curses the Gods. "Can a man not get a moment's peace around here?"

"Robin, it's me - it's Marian."

He rubs his eyes and his feet stop as soon as she says her name. His back is stiff, he's so rigid that there might be an enemy at six o'clock and he knows that his glock is in his pocket, but when it's all said and done and the guns are drawn, there's a target on his back that is as clear as day. "Marian?"

He hasn't seen her for years, not only for lack of trying. He hasn't seen her since she left, and that's the way he intends it to be. There's nothing left to say, his anger has faded, his patience has thinned and waned, but with Regina's love and care, he's grown up a lot. Sure, he has the means to run every other check under the sun if his heart so desired, but doesn't, and he didn't.

But it's not just Marian. Marian is standing in front of him and she's holding a small child on her hip. His head is covered by a knitted hat and his face is turned into her shoulder, and Robin swallows around the lump that has formed in his throat. His lungs burn. She wouldn't. No.

"Hello Robin. It's - it's good to see you again."

He looses his equilibrium for a moment before the world starts to spin on its axis and his head turns the right way up again. He feels nauseous, but he remains polite on the off chance that this is just a dream. His smile is tight as he responds with a nod of his head. He rubs the back of his neck, his leather gloves cool against the bare skin. "I see you have a friend with you. Who's this then?"

He'll remember this moment for the rest of his life, because the first thing that clouds his vision is Regina and the look on her face when he has to return home with the bomb that she's about to drop.

Marian fidgets with the neck of her blouse, she refuses to look at him, she won't hold his gaze and all of his hopes are falling to his feet where he stands. After minutes of seemingly endless silence, Marian lifts her face to speak.

Here it comes, he thinks.

"This is my son, his name is Roland. His name is Roland, and you're his father."


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is really angsty, like super angst. Just thought I should warn you.**

 **As always, comments are love. I'd like to hear your thoughts.**

 **I don't own them.**

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He finds himself tucked away in the back corner of the local diner. Marian sits across from him, Marian and Roland and the three of them are tucked into the booth and his back is flush against the support and he can't help but think that this is one time he'd rather not have to have his back against the wall.

He's good in a tight situation, he knows how to kill, he has sacrificed life for the sake of himself, for his partner, and against all of his training, against every last little facet of discipline, he has spilled blood for love. Because sometimes the code is just not enough, sometimes, he knows, that you have to look towards your inner strength to be able to pull off the shot of a lifetime.

He has the scars to prove it, he has the gnarled skin that claws around his upper thigh where a bullet ripped through flesh and bone, his femoral artery shot to pieces. There's a discolored seam that intersects the corner of his mouth. It's nothing more than a thin line, but he's glad enough that it hadn't been his jugular. There's a wound that healed across his back, lashings that had torn the skin from his very body and the silver skin stretched across his heart that still pulls if he moves the wrong way.

This can't be real, this cannot be happening. He scrubs his hand over his face and sinks back into the padded seat. His eyes are trained on the boy and he knows what he's looking for. He has a keen eye for detail, but all he can see is that the young lad seems to favor his mother. Perhaps, if he narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side, there is something familiar, something that he can't quite put his finger on. But the way that his gut churns and the bile rises in his throat tells him that this situation might just be the one that gets him after all.

Marian orders pie for Roland. It's unusual to find a good home baked pie anywhere outside her home town of Brighton. He knows that she's partial to cherry, but the apples on this side of the River Thames are brighter and sweeter, far more suited to baking.

He cradles a mug of coffee in his hand, it's dark and it's bitter, a bit like his mood. Gods, Regina. That's all he can think of, had been the first thought he'd had after his ex had decided to drop her little bombshell. Not that he's not prepared to do what it takes to be a father to Roland, because he's going to step up, he'd have done that anyway. But Regina, the pain. This isn't going to go down well, and in the back of his mind, he's already preparing the speech that he'll give her when she decides she can't handle the situation, when she walks away from him forever.

"I'm married," he tells her, because it's as simple as that. He won't take her back, he won't beg and grovel at her feet like she probably expects of him. He's happy, he is committed and he's madly in love with Regina.

"I know," she replies, a tight smile offered as some sort of acceptance.

This doesn't have to be awkward, he knows that he can walk away from her, but that's not his style. Still, Marian had always been a bit like a dog with a bone, and beneath the kindness, beneath the unwavering understanding, she'd always been fiercely independent and she wasn't used to people saying no.

"I love my wife, Marian. I'm not going to leave her. But that's not to say that I can't be a good father. I want to be a good father."

His questions are leading to one particular query that he needs to establish, because he needs answers before he can even begin to process this situation. "Why didn't you tell me? You know you could have tracked me down. Why now?"

He's let go of the mug, his fingers clench and flex as they ball into fists by his side. Roland scoops another forkful of pie into his mouth and smiles as he looks up at him, it's so natural, the way that he smiles right back. As if by instinct.

Marian sighs and smooths down the fabric of her son's coat where it covers his arm. Christ, she can't even look at him, why can't she look at him, all he's asking for is a straight answer. Her body languae bothers him, but it has been a long time since he's seen her, and she's not one to be pegged for a liar.

"You didn't want this, Robin. This was the life I chose. You chose to go down a different path," she mutters as she pushes the hems of Roland's sleeve up so that he doesn't dirty the lightweight fabric.

That's it? That's her reason, she damn well better do a sight lot better than that. "That's rubbish and you know it."

She lets out a laugh then, a breathy little sigh that's so patronizing it's almost insulting. She knows that he's a good man, he is an honorable man above all else. She knows that he'd have made time, time for the boy that is his son.

The silence sits like a stagnant inlet between them. His nostrils flare and whistle as he tries to control his breathing. Marian picks at the lint on Roland's sleeve, lint he knows isn't even there. Apparently she needs to keep her hands busy, and the notion is ludicrous, because he's the one who has been wronged here. This child has been kept from him for years. Milestones have been taken away, his choice has been snatched out like a rug plucked from beneath his feet.

And then she stills, she raises her face to hold his gaze and licks her lips as she finally answers him. "What do you want me to say? That I didn't - _don't_ need you to be a part of our lives? I left you for a reason, Robin. Roland is bright, and he's curious and he's well adjusted. He doesn't need a father figure in his life. I didn't see the need to come poking around, I know it would have been an inconvenience."

"Stop," he cuts her off, because frankly, he can't sit idly by and listen to her tear his good character apart when he hadn't even known that the child existed. They'd always been so careful, she was on the pill. He took care of his responsibilities, because he knew that his career would take its toll on the life of any child that might have conceived.

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and takes a card from the slot that conceals it from sight. It's nothing to boast about, crisp white card printed with his name and number in bold lettering. "Take this, it's my card. I have to go now, but we need to discuss this. I believe it's best to do so when we're both thinking rationally, when the shock has worn off."

Robin turns to Roland and holds out his hand, his smile has softened it's far more playful, he wants the child to feel comfortable in his presence. Marian nudges the young boys shoulder and in a stage whisper, tells him to shake hands with the nice man named Robin.

Small, sticky fingers wrap around his broad palm and he inhales a sharp breath. What is he going to tell Regina? How on earth is he possibly going to be able to make this right for her? He doesn't even know how to make it right himself. "It was lovely to meet you, Roland. I look forward to seeing you another time. Perhaps we can spend some time together if your mother agrees, would you like that?"

Roland shakes his fathers hand up and down with a vigorous twist of his wrist, but the smile that warms his face makes Robin's heart ache. He's so innocent, too innocent, he thinks. And he knows that no matter what happens, no matter what happens with Marian or Regina, that he'll do whatever it takes to protect that innocence.

* * *

The walk home helps to clear his head, but his vision is foggy and his mind keeps looping back to the fact that he has a son, _he_ has a son. He's asked himself a hundred times in the space of a few minutes just exactly how he's going to break the news to Regina. Direct is best, she doesn't do well with extended procrastination. He rubs his thumb over the band that rests on his left hand, the symbol of his love and fidelity. And even though he knows he hasn't done anything wrong, there's a weight in his heart that tells him that his wedding ring might not take pride of place on his finger for much longer.

He finds his wife in the dining room with a basket full of clean clothes. She's folding them methodically, because if the institute thought that he'd had OCD, that's nothing compared to the obsessive nature of his blushing bride. She places his shirt upon the timber slab table and her fingers work to remove the stubborn creases where the sleeves join the collar. He stands in the arch of the doorway and watches as she folds each one back in turn, pulls the bottom half up to meet the top and then turns the garment over to admire her work.

His hands fall to her hips and he presses his nose to the soft spot behind her ear. He swipes his thumb across the underside of her jaw and she smiles. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid, only far more painful, there is no way that is painless that he can do this. So if he's going to tell her, if he's going to tell his wife that he has fathered a child with another woman, then he's going to do so on his terms, and his time.

He closes his eyes and he inhales. She smells like vanilla, and sweet musk. The scent is intoxicating, it goes straight to his belly and stokes that fire. "I love you," he whispers, and his fingers collect the soft locks of hair that he pulls away from her neck. He presses a single kiss to the middle of her shoulder and then pulls her back against him.

"Well," Regina begins, "I should let you go out more often if this is the greeting I get every time you return."

Robin is silent, he has no reply, what could he possibly say? So he sways, the gentle motion of their hips from side to side seems to give him courage, and he rests his chin neck to her cheek as he speaks. "I ran into somebody when I went in to town today. Regina, I saw Marian."

His arms tighten around her, but she doesn't seem to give him the reaction she's expecting. She places the shirt down on the table and places her hands over his. They've been over this more times than he can count, because even though she's strong, even though her heart is resilient, she's still human, and vulnerable, and sometimes, she's just so fragile and she'll never admit it, not even to him.

"How was she? Did she look well?"

Dear God, he doesn't deserve this bloody woman, the one who patched him up and nursed his wounds. The one who made his heart whole again, who has given him a second chance to appreciate the beauty that if life. And he does so willingly, by her side. "She looked well, she looked happy. And she ah, she had a child with her. A little boy. His name is Roland."

That is the sentence that does the damage, because in his arms he can feel the moment her back becomes stiff and her posture changes. She tries to hide it, but he has interrogated enough people to know that she's had a physiological response to his information. But he does not relent, and he refuses to relinquish his hold on the woman who holds his heart.

"He's my son."

He can almost feel her heart shatter beneath his touch, her hands move to grip the table in front of them as she steadies herself. But he knows his Regina, this is classic behavior where she is concerned. She doesn't stay to fight when there's more to be gained from leaving.

He traps her body between the heat of his own and the hardwood dining table. He's pressed so close to her that the unrelenting timber bites into her hip and she cries out. Before she has a chance to react, his thumb flicks at the button that holds her shorts together, he's rasping at the zipper and refusing to let her go from his arms. "I love you," he grinds out, the words come from the base of his throat, rasping like gravel.

His hand slips past the elastic of her knickers, fingers guided by the heat that radiates from the apex of her thighs. She's so wet, so slick that he bites his bottom lip in anticipation.

He tugs at the shorts, tugs on her knickers and encourages her to shimmy her hips until they both come loose and pool at her feet before fumbling with his belt buckle. One, two buttons and then the sound of denim as he lowers the zipper. He grunts in frustration as he pulls his hand away from her to release himself from the confines of his own pants.

"I love you," he says again, over and over, the words flowing over her like a benediction. Because she is his salvation, and so help him, he's not going to let her go until she knows that she has his life wrapped up in the palm of her hand.

He uses his knee to ease her thighs apart, one hand splayed open on the small of her back as he eases her forward, bent at the waist. Rucking up her top, his fingers caress the length of her spine, rough, worn pads dancing along soft, supple skin.

He's hard, he's so hard that it hurts. A gentle thrust of his hips has him edging closer to her. He wraps his fingers around his shaft and it's like steel. Christ, he aches for her. He strokes once, twice, and thumbs the bead of moisture at the tip, then leans forward to press his lips between her shoulder blades. He eases forward, finds those damp folds and pushes in until he's sheathed and she surrounds him.

"Home," he whispers, his lips set against the shell of her ear. "You are my home, Regina."

His eyes are shut tight against the tears, his lashes rest against his cheeks, and he sets a rhythm that's slow, long strokes that drag his cock against sensitive flesh, hot and smooth just like velvet.

She's silent, save for the quiet sobs that make her shoulders shake. He draws her hips closer, his cheek resting alongside hers. The tears that fall from her eyes mar his skin and he wants them to leave their scars, he wants to be marked by her pain. Her grief is his to carry.

He moves inside her, impossibly deep, and even though it's torture, he refuses to change his pace. He's trying to put all he has into this, drawing his hips back, rolling his pelvis and sinking back into her over and over again without any rush, without hesitation.

The sounds that she makes, he commits to memory. The breathy little pants that have him thrusting harder is all the encouragement he needs. She arches her back, meeting him with every stroke. His fingers are sure to bruise her hips where he's gripping her with white-knuckled fury.

She trembles in his arms, she's close, and he knows what to do. "Come, Regina. Come for me, love. For me, only for me."

She's practically shaking, but it doesn't deter him, because her fingers begin to curl around his and she's rutting back against him now, her movements sluggish, erratic as she seeks more and more friction.

"Come, Regina. You know how I love to hear my name."

And that's all it takes before the tension in her belly uncoils and she stills. She flutters around him and her lips part, his name rolling from her tongue. And even though it's a broken sound that greets him, he can't stop. He pulls her against him with both hands and then follows. His seed warms her from the inside out, spreading through her bones, making her skin flush.

It takes him a moment to unwind, his nose is pressed against her back and he's still half-hard inside her. Words, he needs to form a coherent sentence, he needs to back up his actions with the feelings she tells him he's not always so good at expressing.

"God, Regina. I love you. I am in love with you. I am the luckiest man on earth, to be able to take from you like I just did, and have you give back to me in return."

 _And I don't want to lose that,_ he doesn't say.

She pushes back against him then, using her shoulder to dislodge his arm, she finds his instep and he jumps back with a painful scowl. OK, so maybe he deserved that.

He watches as she pulls on her knickers and shorts and she turns to look at him only when she's completely covered. The look on her face makes him curse the very day that he met Marian. "Regina, Regina wait."

She shakes her head and he knows better than to go after her, even though he probably should. She's running, she's isolating herself so that she doesn't have to deal with her pain.

He pulls his briefs on and kicks away his jeans as an afterthought. Thank Christ the liquor cabinet has been well stocked. There's a whiskey with his name on it, and it burns his gullet as he swallows a good mouthful.

A few more of these, he thinks, and he might be able to summon the courage to begin putting the pieces of this mess back together again.


	3. Chapter 3

**So I just thought I should say that because I don't agree with the Zelena story we've been given, this is like my echo of a similar sort of situation, minus Zelena and the obvious deceit that occurred there. But it's so much more than that, it's an important journey for Regina, and will focus on Robin's growth as well. Feel free to judge me, this is just my opinion, but I'm not looking for hate.**

 **That said, the next chapter will end on an incredibly emotional note. Get your tissues ready.**

 **I want to thank you all for the kind words you've left, and messages of support. Thanks to the guest who pointed out the obvious! Cheers for that.**

 **I don't own them.**

* * *

He lies in bed, his head propped up against the pillows and he can't seem to escape her scent, it lingers. The musk is sharp against his nostrils as he inhales and sighs. He checks his watch on the night stand beside him, she's still not home and he wonders where she is. He can't reach her by phone and he knows that if she doesn't want to be found, she won't be found.

The sheets are cool against his bare skin and he shifts his legs, bringing his arm to rest over his eyes. He understands, of course he does. Regina's capacity to love is so ridiculous that it fills his heart to bursting, but she's a woman first and foremost. A woman he knows was born to create life, and yet, she cannot.

If he's completely honest with himself, some small part of his being had been completely terrified of this reaction all along. She's strong, and he can't deny that, she has faced down monsters far worse than his own mind can conjure. Her heart is resilient, but there's no doubt the years of silence to cover her abuse at the hands of her mother have taken their toll.

He doesn't even want to know what life will like if he has to let her go.

He twists the wedding band from his finger and turns it between his thumb and forefinger. The inscription on that rests against his skin is simple. _Together._ Yes, she's taking the easy way out, but her heart is burdened with grief.

His lips curse his mother-in-law. _Useless, useless girl. You're nothing. You'll always be nothing._

It still bothers him to think that Marian had carried his child. She'd known his position on the matter. His job doesn't allow him the time nor the inclination to be a fit father for a child. And while he's not about to abandon Roland, he can't be the hands on type. He's hyper-aware of the fact that there will always be a target painted squarely between the boys shoulders.

His enemies will go after his family first, they'll tear Regina and Roland apart and dust off their gloves in time for high tea without blinking. And in his part of the world, snipers rarely miss.

Christ, is he such a terrible man for imagining Roland with those dark lock and dark eyes? For wanting Regina to have been his mother? He's properly off to a flying start with this fathering business. But he can see her face, see his face. Perhaps he'd have retired, settled down like any other family man. But violence thrums through his veins, vengeance and blood are on his hands, and he's not little Robin that used to hide beneath his mother's skirts anymore.

And he knows that wishing won't make it so.

The hands of the clock tick like a metronome, back and forth with a click clack that gives causes his temples to throb in time with the tempo. The big hand continues to move and he's so distracted that he misses his phone chime the first time.

He blinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Had it been his imagination?

People would laugh if they could see the list of characters that combine to make up the contacts in his phone. It's like something out of a Disney pantomime. But they all have aliases, sadly, that's just the way it has to be.

He plucks the phone up from her side of the bed and his fingers glide across the screen as he squints to see the screen.

One new message from Snow White. _She's here._

He releases the breath that he's been holding since he told her about his morning with Marian, but he's just glad to know that she's safe where she is. God, he wants to kiss away her pain. Time has been so unkind to his wife, life has be so cruel to the ones he loves most. But it's too late to make the trip to London, not when he has to be on a plane across the continent at the most ungodly hour.

She's laundered and folded his clothes, his navy suit has been freshly pressed and rests on the hanger she's left suspended over the closet. There's a crisp, white shirt draped neatly over the back of the chaise and his suede Manolo Blahnik's sit primly atop the cushioned seat. She takes care of him, even when he doesn't expect anything more than her love.

He knows that Mary Margaret will take care of his love, but it still hurts to know that it's not him. That instead of soothing her pain, this time, he has caused it. He hangs his head, sometimes he just feels so defeated.

Regina will come to her senses soon enough, for now, he has to give her space and hope that it's enough. They've weathered so many storms in the past, but he's truly afraid that this might be the tempest that breaks them. His heart is open to his son, but for Regina, this child represents the loss of a dream she has squandered away for as long as he has known her.

And the worst thing is that he knows that there's no way that he can choose between them, they're equally precious to him.

But he'll be walking into danger tomorrow, he's going to put his life on the line and there's no guarantee that he won't come back without breath left in his body. He's not going to leave the Queen's fair land until words of love have left his lips to her ears.

He cracks his neck and shrugs his shoulders before he turns onto his side and closes his eyes. His breath evens, and an image of Regina is the last thing to pass through his mind as his eyelids still and he's fast asleep.

* * *

The dawn greets him with a sunny disposition as he sits on the edge of the newly made bed with his phone tucked beneath his chin and struggles to secure his cuff links.

"Hood?" The voice on the other end of the line startles him.

"Yes, sorry, Snow. I'm still here. What did she say?"

There's a pause and Mary Margaret seems to consider her words carefully before she speaks again. He'd roll his eyes if he knew it would make the slightest bit of difference, but as it is, she can't see him, so he tweaks the cuffs of his sleeves and shrugs his suit jacket on over his button up.

"She won't tell me what's going on, but you know that won't stop me, Hood. I will find out, one way or another. So you'd better be prepared for a stern talk when you return."

"Right then." He's so used to the lectures that they just seem to go through one ear and out the other these days.

"She's right here. I'll put her on for you," Mary Margaret finishes.

He doesn't bother telling her goodbye or wishing her well, he should, by all rights, thank her for getting his wife to speak to him, but what would be the point? She knows something has happened to upset Regina, and anything he has to say is likely just to fall upon deaf ears.

"Go ahead, Hood," she says. And her words are so formal, so forthright that they slash fear into his heart. He's no stranger to how cold Regina can be at times, that's how she earned her handle, the title of Evil Queen bestowed upon her for her Machiavellian nature. She's cunning at the best of times and he temper rather tends to precede her.

But that's what he loves, the artful way in which she unscrupulously transforms into a diplomat when it's needed. She's far more intelligent than most give her credit for.

That's why they work so well as a team, she's the words to his actions.

"Hello, love. I missed you last night. Are you well?"

He doesn't care if it's not a secure connection, he doesn't even care if somebody has tapped his phone, at the risk of them finding her, he's going to say what he's thinking and nothing, not even Regina is going to stop him from declaring his feelings. She has been his strength in the face of adversity, and now, now it's time for him to step up and be the type of man she needs him to be.

He's going to love her with everything he has in him, come hell or high water.

He's still in the silence as he waits for her reply, he stands from the bed and shuffles towards his shoes, slipping each one on in turn before he bends to knot them. He takes the ring from the finger on his left hand, lifts it to his lips and pulls out the draw where he places it for safe keeping until he can return to her.

"I'm fine, Hood. You're scheduled to depart at zero six hundred hours. I assume you're on time?"

There's a firearm in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and he wants to take a picture of her to press next to his heart, be he knows that he can't. He aches to kiss her goodbye, he aches to touch her, she's so close, yet so far. He could pack it up, throw it all in and be by her side in a matter of hours, but he can't. There's too much to lose by stalling with this assignment. "I'm on time, but Regina ..."

"No, Hood. This is standard procedure, you know that. Don't break protocol, please."

She begs him and it breaks his heart to hear the anguish in her voice. God damn stubborn woman. He slings a messenger bag over his shoulder, clips his watch onto his wrist and slips an earpiece into place as he does his final checks. He knows that there will be a charted jet at the airstrip just outside of town in little more than thirty minutes, but it's the thought of leaving her that knocks the breath from his lungs.

So he takes a stand and defies the one woman he knows will walk through hell to make a point for him. "I love you, Regina. How is that for your protocol, mm?"

He can't see her grin, but he can sense it just the same. He has lived a dark past, and sometimes the rules just don't apply to them.

"You too," she whispers, and he wants to weep because not all is lost. But now is not the time. When he gets back they will sort this out and he will stand by her side no matter what she decides to do. But he knows her, and he knows that she loves with her whole heart. He knows that she just needs time and space, and he's prepared to give her that if it means that he doesn't have to walk away from the life that they have built together.

"Together," he tells her, and together she replies.

He's about to go undercover, he's about to shadow and infiltrate a private research facility to try and uncover their secrets, it's not something the average person does for fun. He knows that if anything happens, she'll take care of Roland. That's why he married her, that's why he loves her. It's the type of person Regina is, the type of person he wants to be.

They don't say goodbye, it's considered bad luck. So he ends the call and steels himself for the journey ahead of him.

* * *

Regina stands in Mary Margaret and David's dining room with her hands folded across her chest. She's staring through the servery at the fridge where Emma's finger paintings are tacked to the door with gaudy magnets that make her cringe. She doesn't even flinch when Mary Margaret herself places her hand on Regina's shoulder.

"You didn't tell him, did you." It's not really a question, more of a statement. There was no reason to tell him that she's going off to help retrieve the Middleham hoard that was stolen from the British Museum.

"A child, Snow, a damn child."

Mary Margaret frowns and pulls a seat out from the table where they stand. "Here, sit," she demands, the authority in her voice enough that Regina shakes her head, but does as she is told. "Now tell me what's going on, because you know I'll find out sooner or later."

"Robin ran into Marian yesterday," she begins. Mary Margaret notices how Regina's hands grip the edge of the glass dining suite, she frowns and peels the woman's fingers away from the lip of the table, folding them up in her own. "Marian has a son, Robin has a ..."

"A son," Mary Margaret finishes the sentence for her. "Oh, Regina."

It's fine, really it is. She shouldn't hold her own inadequacies against the small boy, but she can't help the way that she feels. This is something she'll never get to experience with Robin. She'll always be mum, but never a mother. Her womb is hostile and it festers. She should have had a hysterectomy years ago when they offered it, but against her better judgement, some small part of her had wanted to take the chance.

"What are you going to do?" Mary Margaret is not one for subtlety, but Regina answers her as honestly as she can manage.

"I don't know. Does it really matter what I think? He's Robin's son."

"You're Robin's wife. Of course it matters. Regina, he loves you."

She almost scoffs at that because she knows that wives don't even come close to the love that a parent has for a child. The sad thing is that she can see the three of them together, weekends curled up on the couch together, Roland telling stories of his week at school. But there's more to consider, she knows that their lives are hectic at best. How is Robin going to work around that? "Well, I guess we'll see. But right now, I have a job to do."

Mary Margaret sighs and nods. And even though she understands, she's still not sure Regina is fit for such a mission. But it's not her call, her husband would remind her to keep her nose out of other people's business.


	4. Chapter 4

**I love them so, so much. Just keep that in mind. I'm OQ all the way.**

 **Thanks so much for all the kind words, it really makes this writing thing worth it.**

 **I don't own them.**

* * *

She's chasing a band of thieves and they're known as the Merry Men. _The Merry Men_ , what kind of painfully new aged tags are kids trying to give themselves these days? She shakes her head, at least it's a distraction, and there's one thing she knows she needs it's a distraction from the hum drum of the events that have occurred over the past forty eight hours.

She knows well enough that the Middleham hoard, dated from the period of the English Civil War, is a priceless collection of silver coins. The inclusion of counterfeit coins is what gives them their value, but with well over five thousand pieces in total, it's a heist that the museum's security should have seen coming.

She sets her head against the the thick trunk of the Alder tree while they wait on the outskirts, ready to storm the estate on command. She doesn't know why there's a rosary pressed into her palm, but the pads of her fingers roll the worn beads back and forth as she watches and waits. Hail Mary's don't really seem like enough anymore, her husband has a son, a son that will never be hers.

Regina cocks her pistol and reluctantly, closes her eyes as she whispers. "Oh God, the Father of Mankind, who hast given unto me, hear my prayer. Teach me patience and grant me the fortitude I need, to believe in my darkest days. Keep my love safe. Always. In the name of the Father, the son and the Holy Spirit ..."

She's not really the religious type, but this is her strategy when her own self doubt begins to creep in around the edges of her heart.

Regina senses movement as silhouettes light up the attic windows. She can hear Hook beside her, but her eyes have to adjust to the dark and she's barely able to make out his figure. She blinks, once, twice, and then he's close to her side, his lips against her ear as he speaks. "There's one on watch, maybe two. It's difficult to tell from here. From my count, three more inside the building. They're armed, it's safe to assume that they're dangerous. We can't afford to mess this one up, lass."

This is a game of cat and mouse, it's five parts strategy and one part luck. "I've got the big guy out front, you find a way to infiltrate their defences, get inside and I'll bring up the rear. I'll cover you as best I can."

She gathers herself and makes for the protection of a crudely erected marble statue in the center of the courtyard. She's little more than fifteen feet away from the stout man, the weapon in his hand gleams as it reflects the light of the half moon. Her feet are light and she knows that she's quiet enough to go undetected, so she's surprised when she feels the barrel of a gun pressed against the small of her back.

She doesn't have time to drop to the ground, she can't react. He's too close. And then everything happens in slow motion, a freeze-frame of moments that are hazy at first, but that she knows she'll never forget.

There's a voice, and then a shot. The fountain beside them comes to pieces in rubble around her as the chaos erupts and the shooting begins. She tries to duck, tries to weave, angling her pistol and firing a round in the direction of the man behind her, but she has been ambushed and bested. He's shooting blind and fast and far too frequently for her to do anything about it.

Terror surfaces and the pent up Adrenalin fuels a mad dash as she scrambles for cover. It only takes a split second for her to realize that her clarity has been replaces by confusion. Her body trembles and her breathing is haggard. She tries to exhale, tries to expel the air from her lungs, but it burns painfully, like a hot coal lodged deep in her gut. She's been hit, and she's losing blood. In the distance, she can hear Hook call her name.

Regina closes her eyes and tells herself that she just needs to rest them for a moment, this is the best way to conserve her energy. Her surroundings seem foreign and her movements are sluggish. She's calm, far too calm.

She tries to obey the voice that seems to recede and then flows back to her, the one that tells her that she's not alone, that she came here to fight and she has to be prepared to really do that now. She chokes on blood, draws in on herself, legs cramping painfully as her belly spasms.

She can see Robin, those blue eyes that look into her soul. She wants to hold him right now, hold him close, as close as she can. She wants to feel his hand, rough and worn, not Hook, not anybody else. She doesn't want to die alone, not without Robin.

"Robin," she whispers. But she knows that he'll be OK. He has Roland, he has somebody to love, somebody to nurture and focus all his attention upon. She sheds big, fat tears as she wastes away, all she has left are happier memories of yesterday.

She's dying. It isn't supposed to happen like this, she's supposed to be old and grey, bundled up in her husband's arms. She tries to say his name, tries to make her lips comply and form the vowels and consonants that are Robin, but it's useless.

"R-bn."

Hook presses his hand to the wound, her abdomen is gushing crimson life blood, riddled from a single bullet. "You're fine, Queen. You're fine. Stay with me, you hear? Don't be a bitch right now, stay with me."

He knows that she's bleeding out, her body is beginning to shut down on her. She shivers as the cold sets in, the peculiar sensation of hemorrhaging slowly seeping into the cloth of her dark clothes. The shock will set in soon, and if he doesn't do something about it, she'll be going home to a hero's farewell.

Christ, this is why they have partners, this is why she was assigned Hood. Because the psychological screens and assessments had matched them as equals.

He crouches over Regina, he can see that her eyes are bloodshot, her face is pale ans she's losing colour quickly. Her lips are blue, but he can't ignore the pool of blood that's quickly pooling around her body. "You're gonna be alright," he repeats over and over again. "You'll be fine, Regina. You're not going to die, not on my watch."

It doesn't take long for backup to reach them, and they're moving out with Regina in his arms. He's stuffing her into the back seat of an unmarked vehicle, arms and legs folded neatly.

Regina doesn't fear the end, but she does solemnly regret it. The Lord is her shepherd, and she knows that she has to follow. If she could tell Robin one thing, just one thing, she wants him to know that he was born to be a great man. And she hopes, that in spite of everything, he'll continue to shine on, her guiding light in the heart of darkness.

* * *

"Hook her up to that IV," the doctor points to Regina, "and pack the site, there's too much air going into the wound. Trauma from the bullet has done so much damage."

Hook stands off to the side of the room, he's screaming into his phone, he needs a team of men, and he needs them now. He needs to track down Robin, but the stupid bastard has gone undercover. "Hood, H.O.O.D. If you can get hold of him, I need you to do so. We have an agent down, it's his partner. He'd want to know."

"We're losing her," the doctor says calmly. "Pulse is weak and thready, and she needs more oxygen."

The woman on the opposite side of Regina's body, the on call nurse, is the first to react. "I've lost a pulse, we need to start chest compression's. Somebody bag her."

There's a flurry of activity, people dashing left and right. Hook can hear them, but his eyes remain focused solely on Regina.

"Pupils are unresponsive, there's no reaction to stimuli. The damage was too extensive," the doctor explains to Hook. "There's nothing we can do, she's gone."

Hook pulls the man up by the lapels of his jacket. "No, she's not. Now I don't care what you have to do, if she needs a ventilator, you're going to see that she gets it. Do you understand me? She deserves a chance to live. Nobody dies on my watch." He gives the man heated glare before releasing him.

The doctor sighs and brushes his coat off before he scrubs his face with his hand and gives a nod. He can feel the strain of this man breathing down his neck, but an oath is an oath, just as a vow is till death do us part.

"Continue compression's," Hook gives the order.

The nurse looks at the doctor, her eyes asking the question, and the man nods. He can't disobey an order. "I'm not even sure I can pick up a pulse," she tells the doctor.

"Try for a rhythm in the wrist. Just remember that her heart is working overtime at the moment, it's taxed. I'll have to intubate, we'll take a look at the abdomen, get her into surgery and do what we can."

Hook watches Regina's prone form. He doesn't blink and he doesn't speak. There are no words he can find to convey what he's feeling. She's not his favourite person, but he would never wish her ill.

"The bullet is lodged in her abdomen," the doctor tells him, and the words ring in his ears. "It needs to come out. If she doesn't regain consciousness soon, there's no telling what kind of issues she's facing."

Hook has never put much stock in the fact that some people believe that there's a God, but he's struck by the urge to pray and pray hard. Least of all because he can't bear to see the look on Robin's face when the man finds out that this has happened to his partner while he wasn't there to watch her back.

* * *

Regina sits on the fluffy white pillow of dense cloud, swinging her bare feet beneath her. The cuffs of her jeans are rolled up past her ankles and she looks out into the wide expanse of blue sky, as far as the eye can see. She's never imagined heaven to look like this, she's never really given it that much thought. It seems so cliche now.

Leaning back on her elbows, she watches as cormorants dive in the afternoon sun, looking for fish to fill their bellies. The colours of dusk surround her, the illusion settling far beyond the horizon. The transition from night into day is peaceful, and she pauses to think about everything, and nothing. The clouds grow thicker, and hang lower, like blinds drawn against the dying light.

An unfamiliar voice startles her.

"Hello."

Regina pushes herself up into a sitting position and stares at her own reflection mirrored in the face of a child.

"Hello," she replies.

"Do you like it here?" The young boy asks.

Does she like it here? That seems to be a loaded question. There are things she likes about this place, things that she could learn to live with. But the more she tries to deny the fact that she's no longer by Robin's side, the more she finds she dislikes this place a little more. "It's my fault," she says, and there's no further explanation.

The young boy smiles, but Regina can't seem to be able to find a reason to smile. This scenario is about as far from happy as she can imagine. It's not really a laughing matter.

"He loves you, you know. No matter what you tell yourself, Robin will always love you, Regina."

She smiles at that. "I couldn't get rid of him, even if I wanted to."

 _And the proof of that is staring you right in the face,_ he thinks. This isn't right. She shouldn't be here, it's not her time. "Then you need to go back to him, Regina. He needs you."

Regina wants that more than anything, she wants to go back to long, lazy days spent lying in his arms. She wants guns and arrows rushing past her head. She wants weekends with Roland, she wants it all.

She pats the space beside her, extending an invitation for this young boy to sit by her side. "Let's just stay here a moment. I want to watch the sun go down, and then I'll go back. I promise."

* * *

"She looks so pale," Mary Margaret whispers to her husband as they sit beside Regina. "Are we sure they didn't make a mistake, David? Is she really alive?"

David's hand is warm on her back, supportive, and she leans into his strength. "It's still touch and go, honey."

Mary Margaret sighs. "I've never seen her like this before. You prepare yourself for what you're going to face every time you walk out that door, but this ..."

He knows, he agrees with her. The best choice they ever made was to get out of the game, to hang up their boots and make a better life for themselves and their daughter.

"Oh my God, David, did you see that? Her hand, it moved."

David thinks his wife is seeing things, but from the corner of his eye, he senses movement. Cocking his head, he watches with eyes narrowed, as Regina's fingers flex and then fall again. "No, no. I definitely saw her move, Mary Margaret. Call the nurse, I think she's waking."

The heart monitor on Regina's right thrums steadily, it seems to beat rapidly now. Stronger, faster.

She's fighting back.

Her hand moves, fingers twitch, curl into a fist like she's grabbing for something. There's a garbled sound that comes from the base of her throat, it sounds like somebody is choking the life from her lungs and it's frightening.

"Regina, it's me, it's Mary Margaret. Can you hear me?"

Regina blinks, she tries to move, tries to breathe, but the words don't come, and her throat is tight and raw. Her thoughts are jumbled, the pain is mind numbing. She doesn't want to die, that's the last thing she can remember. There are so many other places in the world she would rather be right now.

"Miss Mills, can you hear me? I need you to squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

A doctor stands to her left and she closes her fist around his palm. It's weak and sluggish, but she manages some kind of signal that she's here, and she's OK. She's squeezing as hard as she can, but it feels like sand is trickling through her fingers and she's struggling to hold on.

"Good, that's good. You're extremely weak, but that's nothing we can't fix, Regina."

The man moves down to her legs, lifting the sheets up above her knees. There's little need for modesty given everything else he's probably already seen. "Regina, I need you to tell me if you can feel your legs." He removes a pen from the breast pocket of his coat and draws it gently, but firmly across the soul of each foot.

Regina nods, squeezes his hand and squeaks out something that counts as the affirmative.

The doctor adjusts the IV that's connected to her central line and jots down his notes in the chart that he's holding. "Well," he continues. "It's nice to finally see you awake, Regina. You've had quite a lot of people worried. You sustained critical injuries. There was a bullet lodged in your abdomen, it nicked your liver and your bladder, and the blood loss was significant. But you're doing well, you're stable right now, and I think it's safe to say that it looks like you'll recover without too many lingering effects."

Her eyes scan the room and she wonders where Robin is, why he's not here, why he's not by her side. Because she can feel the but coming, she knows that there's something they're not telling her. The look on Mary Margaret's face says it all.

There's an exhale, and she watches the doctor slide the chart back into the tray at the foot of her bed. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and holds her gaze as she blinks, as she waits.

"There was extensive damage, Regina. And we did all that we could. But I'm afraid that we just couldn't save the baby."

* * *

 **Runs and hides.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Did we all survive that? Good, because you might not survive this one. Keep in mind that this will have a happy ending! I want to reinforce that point.**

 **Trigger warning for _miscarriage_ in this chapter. Poor Robin is such a broken man. **

**Thanks for all the comments, the feedback has been overwhelming. I'm so glad most of you are enjoying this! We've got a long way to go.**

 **I don't own them**

* * *

His feet pound the pavement and his lungs burn as he halts to a stop in front of the automatic doors. He bends, hands braced on his knees as he inhales to take a deep breath and try to calm his nerves before he enters the hospital. He stalks across the laminated floor to the reception desk, his hands are shaking and his tie is loose, draped around his neck where he'd ripped it off while riding a taxi across town just to get to her.

He'd received the memo from Hook with news of Regina three days into his underground stint, but time had wasted away and whittled itself down to another week before he'd been able to make contact with the man himself.

Now thirteen days after the initial contact, he's finally been able to string together a plan of action that involves getting to Regina at any cost. "Excuse me," he pants, both hands gripping the lip of the ledge that rounds off the admissions counter. He's trying to stem the nerves that cause his arms to shake. She has been here without him and the fear that strikes his heart is very real, near crippling. "I'm looking for Regina Mills. I'd be grateful if you could point me in the direction I need to go."

The woman offers him a blank expression and he finds himself waiting while the rotation of her jaw goes back and forth with the gum she's smacking. She taps the keyboard and glares at her monitor like it's the bane of her entire existence, and perhaps it is, he thinks. Because if she doesn't give him an answer in a timely manner, he might just make it his mission to further ensure a miserable existence.

"What's your name, Sir?"

Well, he hadn't exactly been expecting that, had he? Not that he can say he's surprised. He's certain of the security measures Hook has taken so as not to arouse suspicion. "Locksley, Robin Locksley," he tells her, like it absolutely matters and how dare she ignore his obvious distress.

"Sorry, but Miss Mills isn't taking visitors at this time."

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Of course she's not. Or perhaps it's just that she's not accepting him, because this is Regina and if there's one thing he knows, he knows that she'll never quite feel worthy of much. Her feelings of self-worth will have all but dissipated in the face of her ailments.

He leans an elbow on the desk and his biceps flex and contract. His shoulders are set, his chest pressed forward and he manages to muster his best smile. His tongue pokes through the gap in his teeth and he's working her like he's worked the best of them. "Look, I've just come a really long way because my friend Regina is unwell. I just need to look in on her to see that she is well. I'll be ten minutes max, if you'd kindly tell me which room is hers, I can be in and out in a flash."

She looks like she's tempted, and he's sure that he's getting through to her. But then she shakes her head and he comes apart internally. Channeling all of his rage into a box, he slams the lid closed and compartmentalizes for now. He can't afford to make a scene, so he bows like a gentleman, thanks her for her time and makes a bee-line for the cafeteria. Plan A has failed spectacularly and as the saying goes, if at first you don't succeed, proceed with plan B. But not before he's had a D grade coffee that tastes like tar and is served in the customary Styrofoam cup.

The stench of antiseptic burns his nostrils, it's acridic and unpleasant. No matter how hard they try, they can't scrub away the lingering death that's all around. The walls are cold and sterile, and he knows how her mind wanders when she's not suitably stimulated by the challenges the world has to offer. He can only imagine the depths of depression Regina has met with of late.

And then he's struck with a thought so sobering, he almost falters in his steps. What if this is a sign? What if the world is trying to tell him to slow down and take stock of all that is important to him? Because even though he doesn't know the extent of her injuries, he knows that they're serious enough that they could have killed her. The crumpled piece of parchment in his pocket hastily scrawled with the words _Queen Down_ is really the only thing keeping him from ripping the place apart just to find her.

And it doesn't take him long to find her.

He stands with his hip pressed against the door frame and watches the rise and fall of her chest. He knows that the average stay for a wound like this is fourteen to sixteen days, so if he's right about the schedule of her progress, he's just in time to take her home and take care of her. This is where he should have been all along, taking care of her the way she deserves.

Emotions well deep inside his heart because he feels so helpless. The woman who so carefully pieced every little part of him back together and healed his wounds, it's all too much. He steps closer, puts one foot in front of the other until they're carrying him to her side and his thighs are pressed against the metal frame of the bed that holds her. She looks so small tucked away beneath scratchy sheets and thick waffle blankets.

He ghosts the tips of his fingers across the crown of her head. "What have you done to yourself, my love?"

He places his lips against her brow, to her temple, her cheek. He eyes the chart with the doctor's notes and he knows that it's wrong, but he also knows it's the only way he's going to get answers. So he takes the damn thing, flipping through pages until he finds the one he wants.

"Hey, what are you doing here? Robin, you know you can't be here when she wakes up."

David. He almost rolls his eyes, but he's far too busy getting an update on his wife's condition, which is what he really needs. He needs tangible proof that she's going to be alright, that whatever happens, they can deal with her issues together.

"Robin, Regina doesn't want you here. She's in bad shape, I'm sure it's nothing personal."

He continues to ignore the man, his index finger skimming the page as his eyes scan the disjointed letters and looping script that form words upon the page.

 _Gun shot wound, abdo. Hemorrhage. Spontaneous miscarriage._

Miscarriage. The word hits him like a fist to the face ought to and hurls him into a world of darkness. He fails to notice David's approach or the fact that the other man seems to be taking evasive action against him until his wrist is gripped in a vice-like hold. "Come on, it's time for you to go. Don't make me throw you out, because you know I will."

Robin drops the file and the papers flutter unceremoniously to the floor. "She was pregnant," he mumbles, but David is close enough to hear the barely audible words. He nods, tugging Robin towards the door, but Robin's body has lost all fight. His shoulders sag and his legs are unstable, he's not even sure he can hold himself truly upright.

"Yeah, we're all as shocked as you are. We didn't even know Regina was seeing somebody."

"She was pregnant," he says again. His eyes are lifeless, but David isn't paying attention, not really. He's already ushered Regina's partner down the corridor and stuffed him into the lift with instructions not to come back until Regina is ready to see him. He doesn't want to make a scene, but he's prepared for Robin to put up a fight.

But he doesn't, he can't. Not anymore. And it's funny, that something so terrible has now served as a reminder of what was right in front of him the whole time. He's been so selfish, so self absorbed, how had he missed the signs? He can't remember her being tired or irritable, he can't even remember if she'd skipped her cycle. He doesn't know, he doesn't know these things about his wife and he damn well should.

* * *

Alone in her room at last, Regina lets the tears escape from her eyes. She doesn't bother to wipe them away as they track down her nose and fall onto her pale cheeks.

* * *

She was pregnant, he thinks as he sips from the cut crystal tumbler that he rotates slowly in the palm of his hand. He reclines in his chair, one shoulder pushed back against the upholstered backrest, his knees bouncing up and down with the weight of nervous energy, of seething rage and utter heartbreak. His eyes are fixed and glassy and he can't focus on anything let alone the gilded frame on his desk that holds her picture.

Whiskey slow drips into his system, but it's a steady load, swallow after heady swallow. He draws the sleeve of his Henley across his mouth to catch the remnants of the evidence, his movements are sloppy now, he's trying to drink away the pain and his problems.

His fingers tap the arm of the chair, there's somewhere he needs to be right now, somewhere he hopes he'll be welcome. He drains the glass of liquor, the amber mull catching and burning his throat as he swallows. He stands and all too aware of his strength, he hurls the the glass across the room. The weight of responsibility has always been too much, but now, now he has failed spectacularly and he can already feel her slipping away.

Fragments of crystal litter the floor, but he doesn't blink, not now, not when he's faced with the very real possibility of infinite loneliness.

The act of conceiving a child is intimate. That something so real had been fashioned from their love against all odds makes him want to scream. It's not fair, it's not fair. Everything they'd ever wanted at their fingertips, snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

He pulls out his phone and fiddles with the screen. There's somewhere he needs to be, and he hopes that she'll let him.

An hour later and he's knocking on the front door, his hand is balled into a fist and his knuckles strike the timber with all the force he can muster. "Marian," he calls, because he knows she's in there. "Marian, let me in."

He can hear shuffling behind the door and he reaches for the handle, but Marian is there and pulling the door open before he has a chance to react. She reaches for his shirt front and pulls his across the welcome mat with a scowl. What had he ever seen in her? Doesn't she know what he's going through? How dare she treat him like a second class citizen.

"Robin, what the hell are you doing here? How the hell did you find me?" She holds up her free hand and shakes her head. "No, never mind. I'm sure I don't want to know."

"Marian," he drawls, his speech slurred, his liquor stained clothes reeking of alcohol. "Where's Roland?"

"Robin, you're drunk. I don't think this is a very good idea. Why don't you come back tomorrow."

When she refuses him, he does something that surprises him. He raises his voice and begins to yell. His hand is poised to strike her down, and she knows that he knows what he's doing, even in a state as unfit as the one he's in right now, that only serves to make him more dangerous. "Where is he? Where's my son?"

Marian points down the hall to the room with the crudely sketched name that has been scribbled on construction paper. It's hung lopsided and one of the corner is dog-eared where his son has probably curled the paper in on itself time and time again. It's a nervous habit himself has. "This is Roland's room, but Robin, he's sleeping. I don't think this is a good idea."

He doesn't really care what she thinks. This was her doing, and he will rectify that against her wishes. Because this is his son, this child made of flesh and blood, and he has every right to demand a viewing with the boy.

The room is dark, the curtains are drawn, but the glow of the nightlight beside the bed means that he can make out the features the little boy wears upon his face. He inhales, hesitant at first, and then crosses the threshold into the room. He stands still, he doesn't even dare breath around this little miracle. There are sailing boats on his coverlet, but he can't imagine Regina would buy something so tacky, not when there are cars and trains and animals to broaden the child's imagination.

He bends to scoop the little boy up into his arms and then moves to sit with his back straight against the wall. He gathers the small head in his hands and presses his nose to the curls. The fresh scent of talcum assaults his senses and he draws his thumb across the baby soft skin of his cheek. "It's alright baby, Daddy is here. Daddy's got you, little one."

His eyes are closed so that he can pretend. He can pretend that this is the child that Regina once carried, this is their child, their boy. His arms pull Roland into his chest and he rocks back and forth. His lips are pursed and his head sways. "Too-ra ... loo-ra ... loo-ral. Hush now don't you cry," he whispers, brokenly.

"Mama," Roland croaks, his voice hoarse with sleep, but Robin ignores him. He relaxes his hold, but won't relinquish it. Marian kneels beside father and son, her smile encouraging Roland to allow his father to hold him.

"It's alright, sweetheart. Robin isn't feeling so good right now, and I think it's a good idea for him to have a cuddle with you."

Roland nods and nuzzles his head against Robin's chest and it's not long before he's dozing again. All hint of anger has slowly seeped from Robin's bones and he's left with the bitter chill of sorrow. The shock has begin to set in and he licks his lips, his eyelids not faltering in their position against his cheeks. But the tears that have threatened to spill do so now.

He gasps great gulping breaths that are ragged and he pants as he struggles not to panic. His heart thunders beneath his rib cage, choking back the grief that threatens to cripple him.

He passes Roland to Marian and tries to push himself up onto hands and knees, his head hanging for a moment. There is silence, but for the sound of his laboured breaths. He can hear the rustle of sheets being pulled back into place around his son and it breaks his heart. This should have been them, it should have been them.

"Robin," she tries to coax him from his anguish wish a hand upon his shoulder, but he lashes out and pushes her away. He won't have her help him, he deserves this misery. He's unsteady as he stumbles to his feet, the tears marking his skin, scars that won't remain.

"She was pregnant," he says, and he's so utterly defeated.

"Your wife?"

All he can do is nod. He doesn't want to, can't even get his lips around Regina's name. It's too much, it's too real.

Marian steps into his space, her arms are around his waist and she's pulling him into the warmth of her body. It's the kind of support he needs, but his mind screams out to him, because it's the wrong person. And he's so conflicted, he doesn't know whether he should stay or he should go. Her lips are on his, her breasts are crushed to his chest and his body is about to betray him.

"Come on, Robin. Stay here with me tonight, let me make this better."

"OK," he tells her, and it's all he can muster right now. Because she's always loved him, Marian has always loved him. And right now he just wants to feel something, anything other than feeling as numb as he does.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to the readers enjoying this story. Your comments mean a lot to me.**

 **I don't own them.**

* * *

His body sways as he props himself up on his elbows, his whole frame poised and ready with Marian prone beneath him. He licks his lips, his head is foggy and he can hear the blood thrumming in his ears. It's loud and it's deafening. Something pulls at his gut, it's probably the alcohol that has long turned sour on his breath. He cups her breast in the palm of his hand, but it doesn't feel right. Even clothed as it is, he knows that something feels wrong, there's not enough weight. Marian's flesh doesn't fill out his hand like Regina does.

He blinks, his chest is bare, one hand is fisted in her hair, but his head lolls down to his chest and he inhales until his lungs burn. He thinks he can feel Marian's hand upon the zipper of his jeans, and his body is unnaturally stiff and rigid as he tries to think.

He brushes her hand away and mumbles something about this being just for her, but he knows that it's not, he knows better. There's a knot in his gut and a lump in his throat and he can't even breathe let alone swallow down the guilt that assaults him.

"Robin?"

He's stalling, why is he stalling? Isn't this what he wants? Doesn't he want the pain to leave his tortured soul?

His eyes close and he shuts out the world. He shuts himself off from Marian and Roland, he isolates himself until the memories begin to bleed, one into the next.

 _Paper lanterns are suspended in the canopy of branches above them, fairy lights are strung around and twinkle like stars, despite the night sky and the constellations. He knows the story of Orion and Artemis. He knows that Orion, the hunter, stands with his bow and arrow drawn. The son of Poseidon is said to have fallen upon the arrow of Artemis._

 _And though his Greek mythology is rusty at the best of times, there are the tales he wishes to repeat, the legends he wishes to pass on to his own children some day._

 _He smiles though, because he knows that his father, his father is up there, and he's with them._

 _He's dressed in grey, dark grey suit pants and vest with a crisp, white shirt tucked in at the waist. His sleeves are rolled back to the elbow, the weather is unusually warm for this time of year, but he has no complaints._

 _The rustle of foliage gives her away and leaves him breathless as Regina appears at the alter that has been erected. The dress is vintage but conservative, off the shoulder and backless with lashings of French lace. There's a row of fine beaded detailing stitched along the bust of the gown, and her strappy flats are jeweled, and they sparkle._

 _She'll tell him later that the flower crown upon her head is made up of the same delicate ranunculas and roses that are tucked in to her bouquet. He thinks it's fitting, a crown for his queen. Because that's what she is, that's what she will always be -the queen of his heart._

 _He's already committed to her in every way that matters, this is just a formal acknowledgement, because he wants to pledge his fidelity, his love, his support. He wants somebody to hear his vow, he wants to know that he will always be accountable, and held to the standard that this woman so rightly deserves._

 _The celebrant talks about growing and learning together; the good times and the bad. A marriage should not be taken lightly; it is a promise to each other that you will stay and see it through. A commitment to marriage is a choice and it should be nurtured daily to help it grow and stay strong._

 _In turn, he promises to honour her, to respect and protect Regina._

 _They spend their wedding night holed up in a little log cabin he has hidden away in the depths of the forest. He's been keeping it for a rainy day, he figures this is as good as any._

 _He cups her chin in the palm of his hand, his thumb grazing the corner of her mouth that's upturned, the beginnings of her beautiful smile._

" _You make me feel, so alive, you know that. There's nobody else."_

 _He pulls her head forward, their mouths meeting as he licks her bottom lip, tracing the lines of her face with his fingers, trying to remember the way she looks, even in his dreams._

 _He kisses her, and it's hard, and she moans._

 _Her knickers are pulled aside and his slender fingers have already stolen the breath from her lungs as they slip past the lips of her glistening sex._

 _She lifts her leg, hooking her thigh around his waist, begging him to thrust. He curls the two fingers in a come-hither motion and adds a third before retracting them and leaving her empty._

 _Her disappointment is apparent, and she takes matters into her own hands, flicking her thumb neatly across the nub of her clit, stroking herself as he takes himself in hand._

 _He watches her roll her bottom lip between her teeth, he can see her toes curl up and he knows that she's close. He pushes her back against the wall and heaves her up, his frame, enough to support them both._

" _What do you want?" He asks with that glint in his eye and the lilt in his voice._

" _I want you to fuck me."_

 _The angle is messy, but she gasps when he sheathes himself. Together, they set up a rhythm, long, hard strokes, as she bucks her hips against his._

 _His sharp hips tend to clash with her pelvis, but it feels too good, the sensation of his cock filling her, fucking her._

 _He grunts as he pushes and her hands grasp his shoulders, forcing him deeper. She locks her ankles around his thighs and he widens his stance, thrusting harder, longer, deeper. Building the fire in her belly, stoking it carefully with the knowledge that she falls apart only for him now._

 _She cries when she comes, and he whispers her name._

 _His hips are barely moving now; they just sway together as she pants into his chest, the rhythm of his breathing calming her own wayward exhalations. He cradles her body, takes the weight for both of them, his wife, his soul._

 _He brushes the hair from the nape of her neck, placing his lips there, tempted to mark her, but having the learned the hard from previous mistakes._

 _He dreams about the day when he'll be able to do it again._

Marian eases herself up onto her arms, her lips are pressed to the spot behind his ear that she knows he loves so much. Her fingers tug at his belt loops and she pulls his body flush against hers, his hips rest in the cradle of her thighs.

Her teeth graze his neck, fumbling with his belt buckle, popping his button, rasping the zipper down along his erection.

"No, stop," he tells her. But Marian doesn't want to listen. This is her chance, her chance to win him back, God damnit. And she's not going to stop, she's not going to cease her actions until he is down on his knees and he's begging her.

"Marian," he says firmly, his hands prying her fingers from his pants, from his body. Hard as he is, it's not because of her, and this - this is wrong, the whole situation is nothing but wrong.

"Come on, Robin. It can be like it was before. We have Roland, I know you want to be a good father to your son."

He's sobering, and sobering quickly. This is like some miraculous sort of divine intervention, probably far too long overdue if his actions now serve to speak for his current state of mind.

Regina, Gods, Regina.

"Let go of me, Marian. Right now, let go."

He pulls at her leg, both hands braced, one above and below the knee. Pulling her towards him, pulling her up, he locks the ball joint in her hip and she cries out. The more pressure he applies, the weaker she becomes. Christ, why is she resisting him? She only makes it harder for herself.

"This -this isn't you, Robin. I know it's ... it's not you," she gasps.

He knows that her leg must be dead by now, there's no way she can move, it will take her too long to recover the blood flow he's effectively cut off with his thumbs and his hands. He holds her gaze because frankly, he's not even a bit above the art of intimidation.

He can feel the moment her shoulders sag, the weight of her body too much to hold. Her hands rise as she raises the up and above her head. The universal sign for surrender, he thinks. At least she's learnt something from the years of their lives spent together.

He eases himself from the bed, his back to the door the whole time. Even if she is incapacitated, he's not about to turn his back on her now. He pulls the two halves of denim together and adjusts himself, it's uncomfortable, but it's bearable. The same can't be said for his wife, for his wife who is hurting and where is he? He's here, here with Marian.

He scrambles for his shirt, he's not even sure where it is, but that's OK, it's futile and he really doesn't need it, not when he has another in the car and his heart is on the other side of town with an ache in her breast, the very ache that calls to him, that mirrors his own.

"I'll be here for Roland," he explains as he makes for the door. His fingers curl around the handle and he watches her face, though his head isn't quite there yet, there's something cold, almost sinister about the way that she regards him. And he feels a shiver rise from the base of his spine to the top of his head. It seems as though somebody has one foot in his eternal grave already.

"But there is no us, Marian. There is no us, do you hear me? Because I've been a fool, a bloody fool to think that anybody other than Regina could ever fix this pain."

Marian smiles, it's tight and it's forced, but she smiles. "It's alright, Robin. I understand.

Robin doesn't bother staying around to find out if she'll be true to her word.

* * *

Regina stands beside the bed that she's spent the better part of near on three weeks in. Her legs are stiff, her midsection still tender, but she's whole and she's healthy, or so the doctor assures her. Physically, she is on the mend. With her therapy and proper nutrition, with love and care and the best bottle of seasonal red she can find, she'll be back on her feet, back to work in no time.

Her palm is flat against her abdomen, her eyes close and her fingers curl and relax. Pregnant, she still can't quite believe it. They say for every soul born, one must pass on to make way for the child anew. But there is fragility in innocence, a bloom not plucked can still fall from the stem that supports it. Powerless to unfurl petals as it wilts and dies.

She will mourn this child, even as she's sure Robin will not. He has Roland, he has his work to keep him engaged and his mind challenged. She knows that the brunt of blame lies solely upon her. She relives the moment over and over again, and wonders where she went wrong, what she could have done better.

She erects these walls to keep the white noise tuned out, partially because she's self destructive, mostly because she can't really bear the well wishes and painful feelings of shame, of judgement. They gaze at her with so much pity that it makes her uneasy, it makes her skin crawl to the point where she doesn't feel like she's whole anymore.

Her overnight bag sits on the bed, flowers, petals, scattered all about seem to scream of merriment she's yet to discover. _They'll cheer you up,_ Mary Margaret had assured her. _You know, flowers are the actual reproductive systems of plants. That's quite symbolic, don't you think? Flowers are a symbol of generosity and love. You don't have to do this alone, Regina. We're all here for you._

She's surprised to find a stranger standing at the door when she looks up, but for some reason, this woman isn't a stranger, not really, not when she's seen her before. She knows who the woman is, she knows because this is the mother of his child. The woman who was meant to truly bear his children. She swipes at the fresh tear tracks and clears her throat. "Marian?"

Marian offers a kind smile, and suddenly Regina knows why Robin had cared for her.

"Hello, Regina. Forgive me for showing up unannounced. I ran into Robin this morning and he mentioned that you had been under the weather. I was so sorry to hear about your accident, I wanted to come and offer my regards for a speedy recovery."

There's a bunch of flowers tucked under her arm and they're bright red, blood red, like crimson and scarlet and sickly sweet with perfume. "Are the flowers for me?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. Roland helped to pick them out."

And there it is, the five point three tonne elephant that has successfully and rather tactfully, she might add, been squeezed into the room. Though she doesn't know what details Marian has, not the motive for her visit, it seems innocent enough. And strangely, she's not jealous, she's not even bothered by the fact that the first person her husband would seek comfort in is Marian.

It's only fair that he has somewhere to go, somewhere to lighten the load and unburden his soul. "Thank you, I appreciate the gesture. Poppies, you don't see them around much these days."

At least Marian has the decency to look apologetic, far be it for Regina to hold it against her.

"I'm afraid we left the trip to the florist rather late, there was so little left to choose from."

Regina nods, but the silence is marginally awkward, her husband's ex girlfriend, the mother of his child has had more courage than he today. The lack of actions on his part say more than she needs to know. The fact that Marian is here, that Robin has had contact with her, does that speak of guilt? Perhaps, or perhaps not. Perhaps Marian is genuinely lovely and that's the woman Robin needs right now.

She can't blame him really, not with her body the way that it is, not with the pain and the knowledge that she will no longer be the one to carry their child to term. The ache in her belly, in her limbs, in her heart, drags her down, deeper than she'll ever admit.

"So, it looks like you're on your way out," Marian comments. She folds her hands together and holds them in front of her body. Her lips are pursed and she shrugs her shoulders. It was a bold move to come here in the first place.

"Yes, I've been given my marching orders. I'm just waiting for the wheelchair to arrive, doctor's orders. Apparently my two very capable feet aren't good enough."

"I suppose it's just standard procedure," the other woman concedes on Regina's behalf.

"Right, standard procedure," Regina agrees.

Marian tugs at the scarf around her neck, and her nervous fiddling doesn't go unnoticed by Regina. She seems to have the compulsive need to have something in her hand, something to keep her occupied, it's a casual observation, but then, that's the kind of man Robin is. That nervous tick is one of his charms, one of the things that attracted her to him in the first place.

Marian pushes the flowers into Regina's hand and takes a step back to the foot of the bed. She nods once, offers another smile and a wave and her words are sincere as she leaves the echos of her well wishes hanging in the air between them.

Regina adds the poppies to the pile and sighs. That was odd, how did Marian know where to find her? Though, she supposes, Robin had been here days ago.

"Miss Mills?"

The orderly enters the room with a wheelchair and Regina tries as hard as she can not to scowl. Her efforts are in vain though, as she collects her belongings and deposits herself into the uncomfortable carriage. "I'm ready to go. Please, just get me out of here."

* * *

Mary Margaret enters the room not five minutes later pushing an empty wheelchair. She's jovial, and excited about Regina's recovery, about supporting her on her journey.

"Regina? Are you here? I'm back with your chariot."

Mary Margaret plucks the bouquet of poppies from the side table where Regina had left them, it takes a moment for all of the pieces to slot into place before she realises that not only is Regina's bed made, but the bag is gone and everything else is still where she'd left it. "Poppies, a symbol of death, of slumber. The blood of sacrifice."

Each word, each startling tendril of symbolisation begins to strike utter fear into her heart.

* * *

 **Did you really think Robin would go through with that? Shame on you guys.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't own them.**

* * *

When Regina comes to, she finds herself drowsy and she can't contain the throbbing in her temples of the pounding in her head that echoes through the bones. It takes a moment before she realises that she's bound and gagged. Her body is heavy, feels weighted where she lies. She blinks, but her eyelids are lazy, her body demands rest, not the forced illusion of slumber that had been coaxed from her body with a cocktail of sedatives that had tricked her into a dormant state of suspended unconsciousness.

Her lashes flutter several times before her eyes adjust to the dim light, there's no light really, just a small shaft that glares from the crack beneath the door. It's barely enough that she can see her hands in front of her face, but she can feel the braided cord that binds her hands against the bare, chaffed skin of her wrists.

This is a hostage situation, something that she has trained for, a scenario that she has witnessed time and time again on the job. She tries to calm her nerves, but inhaling is difficult and her breaths are ragged because her mouth has been sealed with duct tape several times over and her diaphragm is still tight and swollen from the accident. She's short of breath in the position she's in, she's not taking in enough air, her rib-cage barely expanding with shallow little breaths that leave her panting.

She has to catalogue all the anomalies she can find right now, like the binding. Probably nylon cord, and that's not standard, not in a world where zip ties exist for a lousy twenty pence each. She links her fingers together, trying to apply pressure, but she knows that this kind of cord can stretch to absorb shock of her movements. It's smooth, glides against her wrist, and she knows that it will hold the knot longer than she has any chance of possibly trying to maneuver her way out.

The dark room, she knows that darkness can conceal identity and encourage moral transgressions, but this is a faultless elimination of stimuli. Claustrophobia leads to anxiety which in turn leads to neurosis and a radical loss of touch with reality.

She knows that a good agent has a good cover story, but a better operational officer knows how to toy with the minds of their captives. This is enemy territory and she knows that she's in deep. And even though she'll never admit it, she could really rather do with Robin's help right now.

 _Robin._ It's the first time shes stopped to think about him in a while. And so help him, if he hasn't realised by now that she's missing, she's going to have a lot to say.

Truth be told, she misses him. Misses the warmth of his arms and the support of his body curled around hers in the early hours of the morning when they're just on the precipice between sleep and waking. She misses the way that his fingers trace the hollow of her throat, her breast, her belly and always culminate at the apex of her thighs where she's usually already wet with anticipation and need.

Mostly, she just misses that extra spot of tea he'll make when she's frustrated and grumpy and shutting him out because she can't get her own way. She misses the way that he loves her without question, without thought. His fingers and his lips love her so much that it takes her breath away, but so does his heart, so does his mind and his soul.

Now she can hear a voice, a lone male, his words low and muffled through the door no doubt. The man is joined by a woman, she thinks she might have heard that voice before, but it's so hard to concentrate when she's trying to keep a hold on her breathing while taking stock of the situation without having a meltdown. Calm nerves lead to clear thoughts. Calm nerves, clear thoughts, and she thinks about Robin and his ridiculous notion that tea can fix anything. Honestly, the end of the world could be knocking on their front door and Robin would still be seated in his recliner and waiting the obligatory three minutes it takes to steep his bloody tea.

The thought alone makes her smile.

And then she hears the key turn in the lock and the grind of the hinges as the door is forced ajar. Her eyes are unable to adjust when fluorescent light spills into the room from the bulb above her head. Her pupils shrink and she squints, her jaw clenched tight as the sensitive pigment in her eyes regenerates so that she can see the four walls around her and the figure looming over her.

Marian.

It should have been obvious, it should have been something she'd taken into consideration, but what possible motive could the woman have had? Marian has the one thing that Regina wants more than anything, she's not ashamed to admit it, not anymore, not after having a taste of that kind of life.

The woman had a switchblade in one hand and a ripe, red apple in the other. Both are so shiny that Regina can almost see her own reflection upon the surface of both objects, the polished shine of the apple and the gleaming glint of the blade.

Marian remains silent as she uses the knife to peel her apple, she's methodical and particular about what she does, making sure to extract her fingers before they meet the sharp angle of the shank. It's not a clean line, it's messy and it's time consuming - like stripping wallpaper, but the skin is removed in one piece and Marian smirks, proud of her obvious talent for exuberance.

"Regina, dear. It's so lovely to see you again. I trust you're well? Goodness, silly me. I forgot about your little speech problem. Why don't we do something about that?"

Regina holds Marian's gaze. Her heart races, thunders beneath her rib-cage that struggles to expand as she breathes, she's scared. But this is Marian, this is a woman that Robin once loved, if he had any reason to put his faith in her, Regina has to find some way to try and use that to her advantage. It's not much, but it's all she has right now.

Marian lets the apple in her palm drop to the floor and watches it tumble and roll before coming to a stop near the chair propped against the wall. She twirls the knife in her hand and winks, and then she's using it to tear through the layers of plastic and fabric mesh that cover Regina's mouth.

There's a hitch in Regina's breath and she can taste copper, her mouth filling with the bitter piquancy of blood and saliva. Marian has nicked her upper lip and it's probably deep enough that it's going to leave a scar, but she licks her lips and manages to croak out a garbled _"Marian."_

"Yes, Regina. But you may address me as the Maid, and I'll call you the Evil Queen and we're all just associates here. You must know that while the organization I represent is strictly apolitical, they still allow us to deal with anybody whose interests converge with our own. And that's where you come into the picture. Has Robin told you anything about his time in the United Nations Protection Force?"

Regina shakes her head. Robin spoke rarely about his time as a soldier in the British Army. She has bits and pieces, glimpses into the conflict that her husband had endured as a young man, but there are still secrets she knows he will take to his grave, no matter how much she loves him.

"Seventy two British personnel died during the operations in the Yugoslav wars. One of them, a young man by the name of Roland Dubois served in the deployment alongside Robin."

Regina doesn't like where this story is going and her gut twists into a gnarled knot that tightens with every breath, because if she's right and if she's guessed what the twist in this tale is, then Marian is very obviously waiting to see blood spilled as an act of vengeance.

Marian begins to pace, both hands are behind her back and Regina can see her fingers wrapped around the blade, it's a tight grip and one that she knows she has little chance defending against, not while her hands are tied, not while she's still slightly drowsy and unsteady on her feet. "Roland was my brother," Marian turns as she confirms Regina's worst fears. "He was my brother, Regina. And do you know what your precious Robin did? He left my brother there to die. He walked away, he saved himself and sacrificed Roland."

Regina swallows thickly, because if that happened something like twenty odd years ago, how long as Marian been planning this revenge? How is it that Marian knows Robin, that Marian has Robin's child, if all she wants is to act on some selfish whim to avenge her family? She has had them fooled for years, has had Robin practically eating out of the palm of her hand.

Marian pivots on feet and returns to Regina's side where she crouches, bouncing up and down as she settles into a position where she's face to face with the woman who loves the man that she loathes. "So I waited, I was biding my time, thinking to myself, what would be the one thing Robin would miss more than anything in this entire world?"

Regina watches as Marian uses her switch to cut away the buttons holding the rich fabric of her thick peacoat together. The fastenings fall away and Marian rests the hilt of her blade on the cloth that covers Regina's abdomen. Of course she probably wouldn't survive anymore damage done to the one area she has already experienced so much trauma.

"Imagine my surprise when I came across a prescription for anti-natal vitamins. I was so excited for you, Regina. Would you like to share your news with me? Come on, don't be shy now. I can tell you all about what it's like to carry Robin Locksley's first born son." The delight seems to spread across Marian's face, from one cheek to the other. Her eyes are wide, there's a hint of something Regina can't quite place her finger on, but it's there just the same. Malicious intent, perhaps.

"I lost the baby," Regina sighs, and it's not a lie.

"Indeed you did, and for that I'm glad," Marian gloats, pressing the blade a little more firmly into Regina's middle. "But the other, the other one is tucked up safe and sound inside you like some kind of miracle, isn't it, Regina."

Regina says nothing, she tries to remain neutral, impassive, she tries to school her features and keep a straight face so that she's giving nothing away. But Robin has always told her that she's not very good at playing poker, because her brow cocks and the left side of her lip will lift just a smidgen when he knows that she's bluffing. Marian must catch the tiny nuance, because she smiles.

Marian stands and makes her way back to the door, glancing over her shoulder before she dismisses Regina. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Just like Robin has taken my brother, I- I am going to take his child, and maybe, his precious Regina."

* * *

The palm of Robin's hand echoes with a crack as it comes down hard upon the unyielding Mahogany desk where his superior sits with her arms folded across her chest and a stern look that she hopes will warn against his insubordination.

"Two weeks, Mum. She's been gone for two weeks and we're doing nothing."

The woman is cold, blunt to the point of irritating and honest to a fault. He knows that she dislikes him, but the words that fall from her lips are as unexpected as the disappearance of Regina all those weeks ago. "What would you like me to say, Agent Hood? Sometimes lovers just need a holiday?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I said sometimes our lovers just need a break. I'm sure she doesn't have it easy, certainly not being married to you."

Robin falls into the armchair and scrubs his hand across his face. He turns to her and watches her sip sporadically from the glass of brandy in her hand. "How long have you known?"

"Long enough," she assures him. "Did you really think that hiding your documents in plain sight would be enough? You're not the only person who's adept at cutting through red tape. I can still do a basic registry check you know. I haven't lost my marbles just yet."

He'd despaired over the decision for the longest time, he and Regina had discussed it, knowing that after registering their marriage, albeit quietly, they would have to delete all formal acknowledgement of their union. That meant expunging government records of the night they'd become husband and wife. She understood, he knows she did, but actually physically erasing all trace of their marriage was another matter entirely. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't just wipe that record off the screen like it hadn't happened. She deserved better than that. She still does, and that's why I'm begging you. Take me off the Quantum mission, let me find Regina."

This isn't personal, and she doesn't doubt that by now, Regina is likely in grave danger. But he's too close, he's too invested and she can't count on him to keep his emotions out of the mission. A team has been assigned, but that's not really something he needs to know. The less Robin knows, the better, she thinks. Because he's prone to sudden outbursts and whoever finds Regina is going to need a clear head. They have intelligence on the matter, that's why she's sending him after Quantum. "I need you to act as a third party source of funds for their activities. You'll be representing the British government in a liaison capacity. I'm sorry, Hood. I need you on this."

"No." It's as simple as that, and it's not the first time he's considered doing this.

"I'm afraid this is rather non-negotiable."

He's digging into his breast pocket and pulling out his piece, presenting it to her because he doesn't want it anymore, not when it's burning a hole in his pocket, a hole that's so close to his heart that it quite literally pains him. "Take it. Take it, damn it. I don't want this anymore. I'll go rogue, but you won't stop me. I'll find her."

Oh no, this will not do. He will not defy her and put both himself and Regina in danger because he's simply too pigheaded to understand that she's trying to do what is best for the sake of her sanity. She pinches the bridge of her nose and waves his hand away. Though she has no doubt he has more firearms than he'll ever need stashed away here and there, he's still going to need his Walther.

Her instincts push against her gut, and she wonders when she got so jaded by the fact that this man, who by all rights should be miserable, is actually happy, and with the Queen, no less. Her lips purse and she can read the despair that crosses his features. The creases at the corners of his eyes seem so deep set these days, and she knows what it's like to live like that.

She pulls the top draw of her desk open and retrieves a pen and pad. Licking the tip of the pen she jots down a few words, tears the paper from the spiral binder, folds it in half and hands it to Robin. She says nothing, but takes up her drink and turns towards the window overlooking the river. "I trust there's nothing more you have to say on the matter?"

Robin frowns, but tucks the gun and the piece of paper back into his pocket and turns to leave the room. Stubborn old git, he's thinks, as he closes the door behind him. He's going to find Regina, and he doesn't really care what she has to say. He has the resources at his disposal, he can walk away at any time, and there's not a damn thing that woman can possibly do to keep him from running.

The lift descends and he stands silently in the corner while it carries him and his anger further and further away from the source. He's too exhausted to move, too strung out to let his legs carry him any further than he needs to go. Too many long nights spent awake and plotting to find her before time runs out. Because he needs to be able to gather her in his arms and press his cheek to hers again.

He knows now more than ever that he needs her. And he's still not sure how or where he's going to start, but he can't keep dragging his feet anymore. He knows that if he allows time to tick away, she might be the one coming home to him in a body-bag. She might not even come back to him at all, and that's a very, very bitter pill for him to swallow.

It's not until he's outside the building and away from prying eyes, away from security camera's and men who learned how to pick pockets with the best of them that he's reaching for the folded note in his suit jacket, unfurling it with fingers that shake. There are four words printed neatly in the bottom left corner and they make his stomach drop and the bile rise to his throat.

 _Quantum. Dubois. Queen. Destroy._

Oh shit. Oh shit. Dubois. He knows that name and he knows that it's going to be one that comes back to haunt him for as long as he lives. Marian, Marian Dubois. "Shit."

Robin pulls his phone from his pocket, because he's going to need all hands on deck for this, and he knows that even though Hook is an asshole, he's good at what he does. He'll need David, and - and he'll probably need Graham too.

"Don't worry, Regina. Hold on, my love. I promise, we're coming to get you."

* * *

 **How did Regina get pregnant? How do so many women who are blessed with miracles every day do it? The human body is strange, maybe it's biology, perhaps it's a little magic. I suppose they just got lucky. That's my hope for Regina.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**I struggled with this chapter, for obvious reasons.**

 **Thanks again for all the lovely comments!**

 **I don't own them.**

* * *

Robin grips a handful of poker chips in his left hand and runs his tongue along the front of his teeth as he scans the room. He's confident in his strides, three other men already waiting around the table. His tuxedo is ill fitting and tight, even a custom cut dinner suit made to make him look sharp and debonair, the black tie attire doesn't sit well with him. His bow-tie is like a noose, the shawl collar of his jacket curving around his throat is stiff, the double breasted buttons confining.

The wireless earpiece crackles and it almost startles him. The Pirate, the Prince and the Hunter are stationed at calculated intervals around the casino floor, but he still feels uneasy, he still feels like he owes Regina too much and the thought makes him sick. They can't get this wrong, they cannot fuck this up, because he's pretty sure that her life is on the line.

"Gentlemen," he nods his head as he approaches them and pulls out a chair and eases himself into it. He organizes his markers into neat little stacks of green and black and then looks up at the dealer. The guy's probably making a living off tips from the high rollers room, but one thing's for sure, Robin knows that he cannot be trusted.

This is the enemy, and that's no more evident to him than the instant they decide to size him up. Casually reaching into breast pockets, reaching for their hip, bending for holsters with concealed weapons so that he knows this isn't the kind of haven a pretty boy is welcome. But he has cash at his disposal, and wealth breeds greed. Counterfeit notes are far too cheap, these people prefer the cold, hard cash. Without money, you can't buy sex and you can't buy power.

There's a rotund gent with a monocle and an overdone handlebar mustache extending his hand. He looks terribly cliche, like one of those characters out of the silent movies Regina loves to watch. Christ, all he needs is a bowler hat upon his crown and a terribly bad, over the top French accent. "Hood," good of you to join us," he offers, and Robin takes his hand, shaking firmly.

"Hood? Robin Hood, that's your name?" The slim man in the centre of the three throws his head back and chuckles, his hand pressed to his middle. "What a terrible fucking name that is. You poor bastard."

Robin shrugs it off like he's heard it a thousand times before. His cover story has always been that his parents were free souls with a love for the forest. It's true, in part. He'd shared that bond with his father, like he hopes to share his own bond with Roland. The solitude, the inner peace. The wind that whips against the nape of his neck, leaves and earth beneath his feet, nature in its element. He wants his son to know the rich sent the rain leaves behind as it buffets the soil, he wants to teach him to climb, wants to kiss scraped knees and blow away the pain when he falls.

There's a not so subtle laugh that tickles his ear and he's forced to clamp his jaw shut, tight. Because what kind of grown man lives on a pirate ship? Honestly, it's no wonder he's still single and begging for attention.

There's a lick of apprehension in the air, nervous excitement as the trill of a slot machine carries after a boisterous win. He can hear each coin chink as it hits the tray and spits out money to the successful patron. A cocktail waitress with fishnet stockings and a uniform that leaves little to the imagination circles the table where they sit. She's all smiles, her voice is smooth like silk and she's not afraid to make her intentions known.

Not that he'd want to touch her, not when his wife is God only knows where and there are eyes on him, both here and across the room. David sits at a row of slots on the deck above him, he's the eye in the sky, like a shepherd tending to his flock of sheep.

"I'm too old for this shit," the charming one comments.

"I'm ready for the rough stuff," the hunter offers. "Have you seen Regina Mills? Woman has an ass that just doesn't quit."

Robin's fingers flex and curl as they ball into a fist that sits atop the lip of the gaming table. His nostrils flare and whistle as he inhales and exhales through his nose. Just give him one good shot, one shot is all he needs. He never misses, and it's not like anybody will miss Graham terribly.

A throat clears and Robin's attention is directed to the dealer with a handful of cards, his elbows tucked into his side, his palm facing the ceiling. The deck is flush against his palm and apparently he's already shuffled them and he's ready to pitch the cards. "Gentlemen, good luck."

His fingers are quick and swift as he places five cards in front of the four men, Robin notices. Left to right, he sets the rest of the deck into the middle of the table before he straightens his vest and runs a hand through his fringe and opens the betting. It's a standard five card draw, but Robin is prepared for the house rules to go out the window. It's the most basic card game, it's simple, something suited to amateurs, but there are so many variations, and he's sure this is a set up.

Robin opens, flicking chips into the pot. He's not shy as he parts with several hundred dollars, it's only going to be raised as they travel down the table. His initial bet is raised and re-raised several times by the time they've come come back to him, and it's enough to make him want to roll his eyes. It's the kind of proverbial pissing competition he's used to.

At least he gets to draw his cards first, this hand is rubbish and he needs to swap them out for better ones, and he thinks that it's just luck that he manages to pull a king from the deck.

"All right, big guy," David interrupts his train of thought. "Looks like the dick beside you is gunning for a straight. You've got two kinds in your hand, that means there are two more in the deck. If you can get one, you're on your way to a full house my friend."

So it's on with the fat bastard then, that's fine with him. He watches as the man raises a cigar to his lips and take a long, slow draw. He's glad he drinks his whiskey neat, because the ice would have diluted the liquor and right now he needs the burn.

Hook nurses another rum and the Huntsman is busy watching the roulette wheel spin and spin until he's dizzy. The blondes he's barely balancing on each knee raise their arms as the ball loses momentum and falls into the red pocket, making him the winner.

Robin slumps forward, almost asleep in his chair.

"So," the man at the end of the row mutters, "I hear that the new girl has her work cut out for her?"

Robin watches the man beside him swill his glass, but he doesn't raise the drink to his lips. "Sounds like the whore is more trouble than she's worth," he affirms.

"Yeah, it's such a shame she has a bun in the oven," the gent in the middle proclaims rather audibly. "I'd have done her good."

Somebody beside him scoffs, but Robin doesn't know who, he's not really paying much attention to them now. His heart sinks in his chest and it hurts to breathe. Their intelligence is useless, there's no way the woman they have is Regina. Regina cant - she can't be pregnant. That gnarled claw twists at the chambers of his heart again. Their child is lost to the world now.

There's shuffling beside him, somebody is reaching to into their pocket and he can hear card crumpling, he can see movement from the corner of his eye, but his hand is in his pocket and he'll strike if he has to.

"What have you got there, Alistair?" Alistair, so that's the leader of the pack. Well, at least he was earning the stubborn man's trust.

The several pieces of bread spread thickly with butter he'd consumed before they'd entered the casino sit heavily in his stomach. He hasn't absorbed enough alcohol to make a difference and carbohydrate loading always leaves him feeling stuffy and irritable. He's about to lift his hand to flag down a waitress when he hears David voice an audible - _shit_ and the unmistakable sound of foot falls that echo like he's running.

"Robin, don't do anything stupid."

He's forced to cringe because he's sure he can hear Hooks voice from three rooms away. His ears ring and he shakes his head, but when he extends his arm to draw his next card his blood runs cold and his fingers tremble. There's a photograph sitting next to the deck, half crumpled and grainy at best. It's so poor quality that it's almost pixelated, but there's no mistaking the image, nor the woman.

Robin is on his feet, pushing his chair away from the table and causing a scene. The other gentlemen smirk, but it's the feigned concern that really burns him to pieces. "Everything alright there, Hood?"

"Calm, calm, calm," David is shouting and he's so close now that he can see Robin, he's literally just feet away and slowing his gait so that he doesn't draw attention to himself.

Robin glances down at his cards before tossing them onto the table, face up. "I fold. If you'll excuse me, I must use the men's room." He bows, takes a single step back and tries, and fails, not to glance at the picture one last time.

He won't be returning and from the looks on their faces, they'd anticipated his departure. "Leaving so soon, Hood? Why not stay and play?" It's not a threat, but it's enough to rattle him. Robin forces an easy smile and bows out, turning on his heel with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He's moving towards the exit and he's willing his feet to move faster, harder, he needs pace and he needs power if he's going to do be able to do any good.

"Robin, wait."

Robin ignores the man, he's on a mission and he doesn't have time to spare, not now, not anymore. He keeps his head down and his thighs burn as his legs move, as he finds himself with nowhere to go and everything to lose. He's pacing, he's angry and he turns on David. "You bloody bastard. You knew, you knew and you didn't tell me."

It takes both Hook and Hunter to pull him off the Prince, but that doesn't stop Robin from pulling his arm back and throwing his fist as he pitches forward. David stumbles and Killian takes the man's weight as he steadies him, but Robin has the lapels of David's suit coat bunched in his hands and his face is merely an inch away. "Tell me," he screams, even as security moves towards the group of men. "Tell me now or so help me, I'll put an arrow through your heart."

"Back off, Robin," Graham tries, though the words are in vain as Robin continues.

"Regina is pregnant, David. She's pregnant and they've got her, and you're going to tell me everything you know about my wife right now."

* * *

Marian and Regina sit awkwardly together around the small table that has been stuffed haphazardly into the room where Regina lives now. Marian studies the tabloids, news, sports, finance. _The Sunday Times._ Well, at least Regina can relax knowing that it's the weekend. Perhaps she can try to get some rest today, that's what her father told her God made Sunday for, a day of relaxation.

"You know," Marian says as she watches Regina poke at the scrambled eggs on the table in front of her, "If you don't eat up, that baby isn't going to grow. And then how will the little cherub be able to play with Roland and the new baby?"

Plucking the fork from Regina's fingers, Marian twirls it around the fluffy breakfast and winks as she swallows a mouthful and licks her lips. Regina is still wary, but the toast will have to do for now.

"Oh come on, do you really think I'd eat something that's going to put my baby at risk? I mean, I'm not like you, not running off and subjecting Robin's child to dangerous stunts."

That gets Regina's attention and she lifts a brow in question to Marian's cryptic words. She pulls the edge of crust off the slice of toast in her hand and waits, knowing that an explanation is bound to follow.

"Oh, oh Regina. Let's be honest here, this is Robin we're talking about. You turned him away and he needed somebody. He was devastated, after he found out you'd lost one of the babies. Do you know how much that killed him? It ate him up inside to the point that he was overcome with emotion. And then I was the one who made it better."

Marian isn't shy as she lifts the hem of her shirt to press the tips of her fingers to her still-flat abdomen. "And now, now we've been blessed again."

Regina drops the toast she's holding, swallowing thickly and inhaling through her nose as she tries to calm herself. She has to tell herself that it's not good for the child _she_ carries and Roland will probably never forgive her if any harm comes to Marian. "You're pregnant?"

Marian smirks, the smile is cunning, but it's full and bright and her lips curve to meet the corners of her eyes. She practically purrs, and that's when Regina's foundations begin to crumble, like paper boats that run with the tide, collapsing in on themselves, breaking to pieces and disintegrating into nothing more than hopes and dreams scattered on the horizon.

"Roland was so excited to hear that Mummy and Daddy are going to bring home a new baby brother or sister for him." Marian winks and Regina loses all interest in food, she's overwhelmed with the sudden urge to purge the contents of her stomach. She can practically taste the bile as it rises.

"Well," Regina offers, "It's not like I was meant to get pregnant anyway. So I'm sure Robin will be thrilled with the new edition."

Marian takes the napkin, folds it in half and dabs oh, so daintily at the corners of her mouth. She places the creased linen on the edge of the table beside her and picks up a tall glass of cold orange juice, sipping intermittently as she considers Regina's words. "I'm sure he will be thrilled. Of course, he will be devastated when you and your baby disappear, but I'll be there to fix it, again."

Reality hits Regina like a fist to the face, and the impact ignites her body, seeps into her bones and becomes part of her. The realisation that she is Robin's rebound is a heavy weight to carry.

"I'll take the juice with me," Marian says, tilting the glass side to side as the nectar sloshes against the lip of the glass. "Don't want it to go to waste."

Maybe her mother was right, maybe love is weakness, maybe she's undeserving of the good life. It's just her luck, that she's somebody's second choice. She was blinded by charm, by his sense of righteousness and goodness. But apparently that's not all there is about Robin Locksley.

The door slams behind Marian and startles Regina. She jumps, her shoulders hunched, the fear radiating from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Well, could this be worse? Perhaps there's some positive to take from this, even though she struggles to find some kind of lesson.

She eases herself down so that her back is flat against the wall and draws her knees up her chest. She's hindered by her tummy, the tiny round tummy that is there because Robin has fathered the child that rests quietly in her belly.

She lets the first tear go, her eyes red and raw, itchy and aching as she tries to stop the rest from slipping past her lashes. A bullet had ripped through her middle, taken one of her children, a silent sacrifice so that the smallest baby could survive. A miracle, the doctors told her. This child tucked away safe and sound, against the odds.

Tears stream down her face. She's failed Robin. She's failed him and he'd found comfort in Marian's arms. And the worst thing is that now that she's had a taste, now that the evidence beneath the bare palms of her hands is here, and is real, is tangible, she wants nothing more than to be a mother.

"Sometimes in this life, you just can't win, my darling. No matter how hard you try."


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't own them.**

* * *

There's four of them, three with rugged chins, cheeks and upper lips and one clean shaven, smooth-to-the-touch, and they're bundled into a booth seat in an underground bodega at with heavy oak doors that swing on grand brass hinges at two in the morning.

The house lights in the hidden club are low and the music is a steady, incoherent beat. The patrons are noisy, but sparse, and their shot glasses clink as the women laugh with false bravado and the men boast about their conquests.

After strolling through Hyde Park with fists full of bacon sarnies and half warm cans of Cola, they find themselves strung out around half empty pints of ale, damp with a surplus of condensation that scars the timber. Bow-ties are loose and suit jackets are crumpled over the back of the padded seat. Cumber-buns have been abandoned and they're still armed, still acutely aware of the confines of the room that surrounds them.

Robin sinks further down into his seat as he considers the crumpled piece of paper and the words that _M_ had scrawled before she'd handed it off to him, and now they have more pieces to try and slot into the puzzle before the whole picture presents itself. And that's what makes the situation even harder for him, because Regina has always been the one by his side, smarter, stronger, far more creative than he's ever been. He knows that she'd be half way to solving the problem by now.

He can't even bring himself to accept the possibility that Regina might be pregnant right now. He's trying to work through the feelings that are trying to attack his heart, but he's built his walls up strong, fortified with her support, with her love and attention. Nothing is going to penetrate his armour right now. His breathing slows, but life is still passing him by at an alarmingly unacceptable rate.

One happy moment, they could have one happy moment just to stand still and experience the joys that will fill him with unspeakable happiness. Seasons change, seconds become minutes that spurn into hours and days, into a lifetime. Nothing is forever, he's not naive and he's not a fairy tale from a far off land, but this might work, it could be real.

He exhales, his chest is heavy and his belly is full, and all the while he's wondering where Regina is and what she's doing. He wonders if she's safe, if she's well, Christ, though it kills him, he even wonders what could have possessed Marian to take her in the first place.

 _Don't give up, don't give up._ The words circle round and round and up and down, he etches them into the roof of his mouth with his tongue and paints them across his napkin with the tips of his fingers, looping script that almost seems fancy.

"So," somebody broaches, and he's not quite sure who. His mind is here, here with him, but his heart is a million miles away and God only knows where. He hopes that she knows that wherever she is, he's with her, will always be with her, no matter what happens to them. A whole life, and he'll live it lonely, if only for her. "You and the Evil Queen," Hook says. "Never would have guessed that one, mate."

His fingers tap the top of the table and his eyes haze, there's that far off look again. "The woman I know, she's so far from evil it's not even funny. The woman I know is my wife, she's Regina who rolls my socks into balls and showers with me because she claims that it saves water and she's always been a bit of an environmentalist."

He can't even hide the inevitable smirk that graces his features as a round of startled looks and shuddering sighs echo around the booth where they're sitting. He's proud, puffs his chest out just to make the point, his shoulders set back, licking his lips like a hungry man when reality is that they're dry because his whole mouth is dry with the knots that are lodged so damn deep in his throat.

"And it seems like you're going to be a pop, too. Well, big fella," he chuckles as he clamps his hand onto Robin's shoulder, because all the jokes in the world aren't going to soothe his obvious heartache and he doesn't really need that fact brought to the attention of the rest of the room. "I'm glad it's you and not me."

"Actually, I'm not really sure about that. I don't have any details." And he looks at David because he knows that he'll know, because Snow knows everything, and if Snow knows, then David knows. And perhaps, perhaps now he'll finally know, one way or another.

David tips his drink and watches the amber ale that clings to the glass, beads of liquid that rush to meet the others like a moth to a flame. "Just so that we're clear, she asked us to say nothing. She - after she lost the baby ..."

Robin's face falls, but David's holds raises his hand, palm facing the man across the table, fingers curling, two, three, four, five into a fist that he knows Robin can't ignore. It's a hand signal they have always used, a closed fist means stop.

"After she lost the first baby, she was ashamed, she blamed herself. She didn't want any kind of pity, and she thought you'd blame her for being on bed rest, that you'd have to work without a partner for an unforeseeable period. There was significant trauma to her abdomen, they still don't know how the baby survived. They said there was a chance the baby might be - you know, that the brain might have been affected. Lack of oxygen or something. She was pretty cut up about that."

Robin's shoulders roll, his head is heavy as it lolls forward, but he doesn't care. His neck is stiff and his face hits the table, cradled in his hands. Jesus Christ. Two babies, two of them. One of them lost forever, the other he's still not sure he'll ever see, ever have the chance to meet. How the hell did that happen? How did they lose so much? "Where the bloody hell did I go wrong? How did I not know?"

"You didn't know that Regina could get pregnant ... you didn't know, there was no reason to think ..." David pauses as he throws a look over his shoulder to Graham and Killian beside him. He's probably already said too much. "You know why, Robin."

"Marian," he says, and he doesn't even wait for David to finish before he's started off on his own tangent. "I ran into Marian about a month ago. She had a child, this little boy. His name is Roland, and he looks nothing like me, but she says that he's my son."

"You've got yourself a complex situation by the sounds of it. Question is, mate, what are we going to do about it?"

We? Robin blinks, that's a strange sentiment coming from Hook, the man can't stand Regina and he certainly wouldn't agree to help her. "What?"

"You heard me. I said what are we going to do about it? I know you're upset, but there's no need to be deliberately obtuse."

"Marian has Regina," Robin explains the situation to them. Graham has been quiet, and for that he's thankful. None of the usual quips or witty remarks have so much as left his mouth, and Robin finds a new respect for the man. He doesn't quite know the details of their past, he doesn't really want to know about the men who have had their filthy hands all over his wife. But there's respect in the silence between them, at least for now. "She's working for Quantum, and she wants to destroy Regina."

"That's a bit fucking morbid," the hunter finally chimes in with his two cents worth. The other three men each lift a brow in solidarity, so much for trying to keep Robin's spirits at an all time high. "What?" He shrugs. "I'm just saying."

"I like you better with your mouth shut," Robin snarls.

And then Hook, always the peace maker, always the pacifist, weighs into the conversation. Because Robin can't keep his cool right now, because Robin can't regulate his own bloody emotions and the guilt that eats him from the inside out. His gut caves as the shame gnaws and spirals. "Hey, hey. Cut it out. We're men here. Hood, stop your sniveling, and Hunter, you be a good lad now and keep your mouth shut. David, what can you tell us about Quantum?"

"Ah, from memory, apolitical, no political agenda that we know of. Almost exclusively businessmen and company executives. Alistair Moore, works in commerce I believe. A shipping magnate who inherited his father's estate."

"Graham, we're going to need background on Marian ..." He looks to Robin for further confirmation.

"Dubois," Robin tells him, and the consonants and vowels grate as his back molars grind with fury. He's falling apart, but he's keeping himself together for her, _for them_. His family. He will bring them back and they will be together.

"Marian Dubois. Try Locksley, try Hood and any variants you can think of that might connect her to Robin. We've got ourselves a mission, lads." Killian nods at Robin, and Robin knows that somewhere deep inside the man they all love to hate, there's another small sliver of guilt working for their cause.

Robin nods back. He knows that they'll find her. Even if he has to lay down his life just to get her back.

* * *

Regina is waiting for the doctor to call and she's anxious because she's learned a few things by spending most of her supervised visits with Marian. She's learned that the woman is a lunatic, she's eccentric and she's reckless. But the thing that scares Regina the most, is that fact that despite her obvious paranoia, she's still so seemingly happy.

She's been trying to keep track of the growth of the baby, but it's hard when she's isolated and her injuries have condemned her to carry as high-risk. She can't be anymore than sixteen to seventeen weeks along right now, but if Marian wants to take her baby, Regina knows that nothing will stop her husband's ex.

Is that why the doctor is coming to visit? Are they going to forceably remove her child? God, she hopes not. One loss still weighs heavily upon her heart. If they're going to do that, if they're going to force her to give up her child, they may as well take her too. She should tell Marian, that might make it easier, perhaps then their lives can be snuffed out together, in one go. She's not going to let Marian take the baby from her body, it's her job to take care of her child.

Even if Robin has given up on her, even if she's no longer his wife, and despite the fact that he has obviously given in to his temptations and moved on with Marian, created a family with Marian, she'll do all she can to protect her son or her daughter.

She can cup the swell of her belly comfortably in the palm of her hand, but she knows that for how far along she is, the bump should be more pronounced. It's barely sticking to her shirt right now, and the fabric certainly isn't stretching or gaping to cover the space. It's an awkward angle like a squiggly line turned sideways. But there's no telling just how badly damaged her uterus was when she hasn't really been able to keep the appointment she's now failed to keep with her obstetrician.

Her fingers are splayed across the taut skin, she wonders if it's a boy or a girl, she wonders whether they've lost a boy or a girl, she wonders if it really matters at the end of the day. And she finds herself thinking that it does matter, it matters because that was her child, her child with Robin, not just the product of conception, as the surgeon had stated so clinically.

"You know, there's this song your dad used to sing for me when I couldn't sleep. And I have to admit, my voice isn't as good as his, but I'll give it a go." She clears her throat first, nervous, because she doesn't want to mess this up. Robin would tell her to stop being so ridiculous. "Here goes. Too ra loo ra loo ral, too ra loo ra li, too ra loo ra loo ral ..."

"He used to sing that to me too," Marian says as she stands at the foot of the bed. Regina had missed her arrival, but Marian's words are oddly soft, dare she even say, affectionate? She can't read the expression on Marian's face, though she seems to be reflecting, reminiscing about something that involves Robin.

It makes her want to cry. Nothing is sacred, there's nothing unique to their relationship and it just goes to show that she's more of a rebound than she's ever cared to admit.

"Lets get on with is, shall we?" And just like that, she's gone from sullen to psychotic in the space of a hairs breadth. It's eerie in a sinister kind of way, like she's completely out of touch with reality when she's not in a head space that includes Robin. Roland needs to be removed from her clutches, and she just hopes that Robin has had enough sense to make sure the young boy's welfare comes first.

The woman standing at the door takes a tentative step forward into Regina's line of sight. She's carrying a worn leather tote, but she's dressed casually in blue jeans and a sweater. Her hair is slicked back, pinned neatly into a tight bun that takes pride of place on the top of her head.

"This is Doctor Ward, and you can address her as Doctor Ward. You can count on her to be discrete. I mean, her bank balance practically resembles the price of silence right now."

Doctor Ward does not smile, nor does she frown. Given the circumstances, it's probably best that she sustains her poker face if Regina is going to put any of her faith in the woman. "Hello, Regina. I'd like to check you over, if that's alright with you. I understand that you're recovering from a gun shot wound, and I'd like to make sure everything is progressing with the pregnancy. I assure you, I'm just here to do my job."

Regina has to go with her instincts here. She's not in any immediate danger that she can assess from her place on the bed, but she knows how quickly the moment can change, she knows how the worst case scenario can sneak up on you when your back is turned and she has the scars to prove it. "You may."

Marian curls a dark lock of hair around her index finger and pushes the curl back behind her ear before she folds her arms across her chest and watches over proceedings. She's not going to give them privacy, and Regina is only kidding herself with thoughts of anything less.

"Do you have any idea how far along you are, Regina?"

Hell if she knows for sure, she's only going on very rough estimates that she's got. There's not exactly an abundance of ultrasound equipment lying around her current lodgings. "I could be sixteen weeks, give or take. That's a very rough approximate."

"Well, you certainly don't present as a woman would at sixteen weeks gestation. The effect of the trauma your body has sustained could effect the pregnancy in a number of ways. Given that you were still in your first trimester, and the severity of the wound, the extent of disruption of normal fetal physiology could be extensive."

Regina knows enough about pregnancy to know that the baby should be head down, bum up. She's grateful she actually took the time to listen to Mary Margaret, because apparently the orientation and presentation of the baby is important business.

Doctor Ward lifts the hem of Regina's blouse, she folds it in half and it settles beneath the curve of her breasts. The woman's fingers glide over her bare skin, and they're cool to the touch, but not unbearably so. Regina's abdomen is still numb in parts, she's also still incredibly tender is others. She can feel slight pressure around her pelvis, but not much of anything else.

The light above them flickers a beat and Regina inhales, she tries to calm her heart, but she's anxious and she has every reason to be uptight as this stranger touches her, literally has the life of her child in her hands. It's enough to make her skin crawl. "I have a fetal doppler with me, Regina. I'd like to check the baby's heart beat."

Regina doesn't argue, but she does close her eyes in a bid to push back the tears that try to escape her hold. She's going to hear the whoosh of the tiny child's heart and all she wants is Robin. She wants his beaming smile and his eyes that crinkle with smile lines. She wants his hand warm against the palm of her own, and she wants his thumb stroking her hand while he assures her quite frankly, that everything is going to be just fine.

The doctor draws the doppler probe over her belly in slow circles until she focuses in on one particular area of Regina's abdomen. The sound is unmistakable. It thrums in her ears, over and over again, and Regina thinks it's the most beautiful thing she has ever heard. "One hundred and thirty two beats per minute. It's not bad, but it's not great, Regina. You're in your second trimester now, you need to take care of yourself."

Regina's listening, but the words don't seem to register. All she can hear is the sound of the baby's heart, and all she can see in her minds eye is an image of Robin, smiling down at her like she's the one who has hung up the moon, and all of the stars in the sky.


	10. Chapter 10

**It has been a while, I've been unwell, but I do intend to finish this story.**

 **This chapter may have some triggery material, PTSD, depression etc. Not long now and Robin and Regina will be reunited. Please feel free to comment, all mistakes are mine.**

 **I don't own them.**

* * *

Robin is silent as he sits on the couch in David and Mary Margaret's living room. He's hunched with his elbows on his knees, his head cupped in his hand as he goes over the intel on the floor at his feet. His eyes scan the words, scan them again, over and over until his retina's begin to reject the scrawl as written word and the vein in his temple throbs. But he won't remain still, he refuses to give up, while there's a light, while there's a thread that he can grasp and he can pull, if he can tug to the end of his tether, he is invested.

This is the beginning of the end, and he will be relentless in his pursuit of those who even dare think about getting in his way, because he is bringing her home, he is going home to his heart, to Regina and whatever future stands between the two of them now, shattered or otherwise.

Roland, Roland Dubois. The name has unlocked a Pandora's Box of hell that took him years to stuff away into the depths of his mind, to fasten away with iron bars and heavy-duty bonds that his mind couldn't cut through. The stress of the war had almost killed him, back on British soil, he still feels as though the world beneath his feet might split and fracture without warning. A torrent of gunfire still echoes in his ears, he still wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, grasping for Regina, gripping her arms until she's worried he's going to leave bruises.

Training for MI6 had come at a time where he'd needed to get out of the four walls that were smothering him, action, investigations, being a field agent come operative who served his country and unraveled conspiracy plots. But every time his finger caught the trigger and his fist trembled, fingers shook, it was one step closer to failure. He still doesn't know how he managed to keep his cool, it was all an act, composed on the outside while his internal monologue screamed for the closest exit.

 _He rests his head upon his rucksack, his pistol tucked beneath his makeshift pillow, his government issued service rifle propped up by his side. He closes his eyes, but he doesn't sleep. He's just resting them, he tells himself. Just a little bit. The silence is eerie, it frightens him more than the tank missiles that blow villages and civilians apart without warning. Ethnic cleansing, he scoffs. What's the use of the human race if all they want to do is play God, like they're some kind of ethereal beings. You can't keep the peace when the casualties keep falling. What bloody good does a treaty do, when nobody wants to listen to reason._

 _Maybe he'll find himself a girl when he gets home, settle down, raise a family. He's never considered himself a family man, he's only ever been worried about himself. Maybe, maybe he'll build a cabin in the middle of the woods where nobody will ever find him. Fishing at his fingertips, maybe, maybe he'll brush up on his archery while he's there._

 _"You awake, Locksley?"_

 _"What?" There's a voice, a voice speaking to him, just as he's about to rise over the crest from wake into sleep. "Yeah, yeah, I'm awake, Mate."_

 _"When do you think we'll make contact with the villagers who have intel on the rebel forces in the area?"_

 _Roland Dubois, new to Robins unit, fresh from basic training as far as he can tell. Robin disapproves, but it's all hands on deck when your country. Commanding officer mentioned that he was born sickly, shouldn't be here at all, but the "Be the best" mantra is as good as a cash payment around these parts. Difficulties be damned as far as they're concerned._

 _"No idea, Mate, but I do know that we need to sleep if we're going to head of a rogue attack at zero five hundred." He can't see his watch, it's too dark, but he's pretty sure it's already half one._

 _When zero five had dawned and the world around them echoed with nothing but the chirp of crickets and the shuffles of the locals waking to face the day, they'd been surprised. It was an ambush gone wrong, bad information misinterpreted, as the shells rained down on them just before the sun began to set in the sky._

 _The walls around them are obliterated, there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, their left to the elements, scrambling for their lives, falling back into formation, all except one._

 _Dubois. He's injured, he barely has time to defend himself against the onslaught when the rocket guided assault gun takes him out where he lies beside Robin._

"Robin." David shakes his shoulder and he reacts to the flashback, on his feet with his hands around his best friends throat. He's tense, his eyes narrowed, a thick sheen of sweat on his brow, beads falling from the bridge of his nose. It takes Hook and the Hunter the drag him off the poor ex-agent who clutches his neck and tries to swallow, inhaling harshly through his nose, stifled for air.

"Jesus Christ," he spits, before he shakes his head, his voice hoarse, his larynx aching and tender.

Robin pushes himself out of the arms of the two men holding him back, he knocks an elbow into Graham's ribs for good measure and starts to rub at his wrists. David knows better than to sneak up on a man when he's deep in thought, a man with scars that multiply into the multitudes that plague him, that continue to plague him.

"I'm sorry, you caught me in the middle of a snap."

"It's fine," Mary Margaret fusses. "Just be careful not to wake Emma, it's late and I just got her to settle."

He apologises profusely, because he knows that they have had so much trouble with Emma refusing to settle unless she's in the arms of her mother. He's told the woman point blank that she needs to take a step back and look at the situation as it is, and what it is is that she's just far too nice for her own good. _"Control crying, look it up sometime."_

"This is harder than espionage," he mumbles, and bends to pick up his papers, shuffling them and then spreading them out on the coffee table in front of him.

"Well, what David was coming to tell you is that he might have found something," Killian offers, the first link in the chain they need to make a noise.

"And?" He's impatient and he's irritated, because Regina's pregnancy is incredibly high risk, as the obstetrician had explained. It still kills him to think about the fact that she'd had to sacrifice one child for the life of another. It brings joy to his heart to think that this tiny miracle had survived, hidden in the shadow of his or her sibling. But he knows that it should have been him, it should have been him taking that bullet, not the tiny baby nestled safe and sound in Regina's womb.

"Marian's father owns a house just outside Uxbridge. The deed is in his name, but Robin ..."

"What are we waiting for? Let's get men on the ground, we can scope it out. If Marian is there, we can have her followed, it's the best lead we have right now." His frustration gets the better of him and his palm becomes a fist that makes contact with the hardwood beam holding up the roof above them. He doesn't feel the pain, even as his knuckles are torn open, even as he bleeds all over the living room floor.

"Because she's not going to be there. You and I both know that. She's not stupid, it would be the first place she'd expect us to look for her. It's an hours round trip to London, she has to be laying low somewhere between the two. She could be anywhere within a radius of - well, I don't exactly know, but we're talking about most of West London for her to hide."

"Well, probably not Kensington, right?" Mary Margaret is on her hands and knees blotting at carpet while she wears a pair of kitchen gloves the colour of sunshine and bright buttercups. They make him want to vomit on the spot. Sometimes her taste leaves a lot to be desired. "Because she's not going to hide Regina in Kensington, lets face it, security is far too tight. So that's good, we can rule out Kensington. There is every reason to hope, Robin."

"Christ, this is ridiculous," he shouts, and this time, he doesn't care about the fact that Emma begins to cry in the nursery down the hall. He doesn't care, because David and Mary Margaret have everything. Their lives are so seemingly perfect and he has nothing, and he just wants to be selfish. He wants them to know what it feels like, what it feels like when your heart aches and there's no way, no balm that can possibly soothe you.

He has Roland now, he has his son, but he doesn't have time to spare and he feels like such a bastard, because now there's this young boy caught up in a mess of vengeance and betrayal. He's such a rubbish father, maybe it's a good thing Regina isn't with him, would it be so terrible if she lost the baby she still carries? Does she still carry that part of him inside of her? For every question he asks himself, he's faced with more questions than he'd had at the very beginning of his own interrogation. He shakes his head and stops to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. He knows that thoughts become real just as fast as you think them, he knows Regina should have a good grip on his balls right now, because no man, no father in their right mind would ever think they'd be better off without those tiny dark eyes, or pouty little lips like Regina.

"Fuck." He trails off as his thoughts twist in on themselves and the answer has been so obvious. He doesn't know why he didn't think of it sooner. "Roland."

"Your bastard kid? What about him?"

Robin makes a promise to himself, as soon as this is over, as soon as Regina is safe in his arms again, he's going to put his fist through the face of one Graham Humbert. The smarmy bastard, that's the very least he deserves, Robin thinks. "Marian has to be looking after Roland, maybe she takes him to preschool during the day, or to the library, do kids still go to library's these days? Or the park, of course, she has to take him to the park, right?"

A sudden well of excitement bubbles deep in Robin's gut. He knows he should lower his expectations, he shouldn't have any expectations really, that's terribly irresponsible, and it's bad enough that he's letting his feelings get the best of him. But there has to be a way to trace Marian without leaving an obvious trail she might be able to find.

"You dumb fuck. Do you really think she's going to be popping off down the road to get milk and bread when she has half of the British intelligence after her and literally thousands of contacts at her fingertips? You must be thick."

Maybe Robin will give him that fist right now, as a matter of fact, he's pretty sure he's got enough personal space for a good wind up and follow through. His nostrils flare and his shoulders shake, the words carry enough weight that he'll do enough damage to wipe the shit eating grin from that son of a bitch's pretty face. Robin's elbow pulls back and it's a knee-jerk reaction as he strikes the Hunter down where he stands. Robin stands over him as he cracks each knuckle in turn, heavily booted foot on his chest like he has his trophy, like the hunter has become the hunted. "If there's one thing you know about me, Graham, it's that I never miss."

He ought to kick him in the crotch for good measure, the man should not be allowed to reproduce, but he tips him with the tread of his toe and turns around, stalking off in the direction of Emma's room.

"Are you just going to let him get away with this in your house, David? Be a man would you, he's clearly gone off the edge, we should have him committed."

Hook helps the Hunter back up to his feet, his nose is bloody but he doesn't seem to think that it's broken. His cheek is already starting to bruise and his lip will be fat come morning. "As far as I can see, you've had it coming for a while, sunshine. Besides, if he'd heard me out, he'd know that I was going to say the name on the title, it's Alistair, Alistair Dubois."

"Well fuck me," David croaks as he slumps into the armchair beside the other two men. The portrait style face that appears on the laptop Hook had been using is the perfect representation of the shipping magnate Robin had chanced his luck with the previous night. "So not Alistair Moore at all."

"No mate, this is most definitely Alistair Dubois."

* * *

Regina is torn, torn because she really wants to listen to the doctor as she actively analyses Regina's history and calls to attention all the factors conducive to a healthy and viable pregnancy. But Regina's fingers are busy, busy inching closer to the mobile phone that rests between the folds of the old blanket thrown over her knees. There's no such thing as modesty here, not where Marian is concerned, as she likes to point out, she's already given birth to a child that Robin has sired.

Regina doesn't really consider herself a good loser, because Regina is not used to losing, she wins at all costs, but rubbing the fact in her face every chance she gets is not just poor form on Marian's part, it's beginning to rub Regina the wrong way. She's restless and lonely, suffering from depression, bored, dejected and held in some kind of makeshift lodging against her will. Every time Roland is brought up in conversation, a little piece of Regina's heart is chipped away. The disappointment, the hurts the most, knowing that her body has failed to nurture one child, not knowing what the fate of her second child will be. It's agony, and it's unrelenting. The depths of her love are endless, and yet, there is no time to heal, no time to greive in peace, the gears in her mind grinding and bumping like teeth gnashing.

As a physician who obviously maintains the ability to achieve thoroughness and accuracy, her attention to detail in this situation leaves a lot to be desired. She'd taken the device from her pocket not five minutes ago after it had trilled and she'd checked, muttering about having to take time out of her busy schedule when she has other patients in need of assistance.

Regina just needs Marian to turn her back, just for a moment, a moment that will coincide with the quick witt and sticky fingers her husband has impressed upon her. It's all about the timing, patience is power, there are no coincidences in life. Her trigger finger twitches, itches, and she has to force herself to play by the rules. Inhaling through her nose, she winces when the doctor presses a particularly tender point below the entry wound.

"We're going to have to monitor you closely, your cervix is probably very weak, given the trauma your body has sustained. The fetus is measuring small for your dates, but considering the state of your uterus, and the shape after your surgery, the baby may not be able to settle into the usual head-down position. That means you might be looking at a breech birth, and that's not something you want."

It's uncomfortable, but Regina tries not to let the fear show. She finds a place inside where there's joy, where the sun shines through the fog of fuzzy scar tissue. She hopes that one day, this pain will make sense to her, that when she holds her child in her arms ... The thoughts die off when she looks up and meets Marian's gaze. There's no point holding onto lost dreams. "Hear that, Regina?" Marian's words are mocking, she laughs at her own jokes now. "You have to be so careful, your body is so fragile. We don't want you to have an accident, do we?"

Ward swivels and furrows her brow as she frowns at Marian, it's a split second, her back is turned in an about face. The action is diversion enough to change the course of Marian's stance. She rolls her eyes and Regina's fingers curl around the slimline phone. She's quick to tuck it beneath her thigh, the tempered glass cool against her skin. The mask doesn't slip, Regina manages to keep her cool, though her heart-rate increases, she's pretty certain that the organ has dropped into her belly.

The doctor takes her binder and notes her findings, jotting down a rough draft for her records. "You have to remember, Regina, you have an abnormal uterus. This isn't going to be easy, but I'm confident that we can see you through this pregnancy."

Regina's not really listening, but she nods, her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. Her shoulders rise and fall as she inhales and exhales. Breathing isn't something she has to think about, it just is. In through her nose and out through her mouth, air all around her, observing her body as it happens naturally, solely for the purpose of keeping her alive.

Doctor Hart makes small talk with Marian as she packs her belongings back into her bag and leaves a slip of paper on the table beside them. "Have this filled for her," she tells Marian, wary of the fact that her words are very likely offered in vain.

And then Marian and the other woman move towards the door and Regina knows that time is not on her side, time is not her friend, and she has to be fast about what she's going to do if she has any hope of getting a message out to Robin, to Mary Margaret, to anybody she can possibly think of. Thumbs and fingers glide over the barely-there letters and digits, palms sweaty and shaking. Her fingers are stiff, but she manages the R and the L and the number, she knows that off by heart. She can hear Marian's footsteps as they echo down the stairs above, she's getting closer now.

"Damnit," Regina curses as she watches the hourglass spin on the screen. "Send, you bastard." The confirmation materialises and she's trying to delete the proof. "Come on, come on."

"Regina." Marian's voice carries through the space between them and the heavy key turns in the lock and the door swings open. There's nothing Regina can do but look straight ahead at the wall. "I'm sorry, I think I left my phone behind," the doctor offers, Marian standing alert and at attention right beside her. She watches Regina, she's cool, but she's calculating in her mind, of that, Regina is sure.

"It's here," Regina says, brandishing the phone as though she's just picked it up of the side of the bed where it had been abandoned earlier. Regina passes it to the woman, her smile tight, not giving anything away. There's no reason for them to believe that she's had sufficient time to make a difference, and Regina hopes that the message she's sent Robin was cleared in time, she can do little else than pray that the history has been erased, or she's put her own life in harms way should Marian find out.

It's too late now, there's nothing more she can do. Robin will figure it out, Robin will find her. She refuses to allow herself to believe otherwise. Her hand rolls over the gentle swell of her belly, a soft curve that she hopes will become rounded with time. "Nobody gets left behind."

Robin made a vow to her, one that he won't forsake, one that she knows he will keep. The choices he makes, has made, will impact the rest of her life. She has to have faith, hold her head up, because if she lets herself sink any further, she's not sure how she's going to be able to pull herself out of the hole she's been digging. It's his job, it's his duty, as her husband, to find her and to save her. "Hood, Robin Hood, she mumbles as she fingers stroke the fabric that covers her burgeoning belly. Her mind is working to formulate a plan now, because Regina is resourceful, and she knows it won't be long until Robin is knocking the door down to rescue her.

It's not long, the minutes seem like mere seconds before Marian returns. The door slams and the force is enough that it makes contact with the wall, it's probably left a mark, it's likely made a dint, but the detonation is clear, it's a warning, and one that Marian won't be kind enough to repeat, should she suspect Regina's ability to mess up the plans. Marian takes Regina's chin in her hand, yanking her body forward, twisted at the waist as she hurls her into position so that she can look her in the eyes. She's not being gentle, but Regina knows that Marian's patience has likely worn thin. "You'd better hope to God you haven't done anything stupid, Regina. I'd hate to have to be the one to console Robin over the loss of his wife and his unborn child. Again." she grins, licking her lips and winking. "You're a mess, really, I don't know what he sees in you. Not when he can have this, not when he has Roland to come home to."


End file.
